


All Over You

by amandaterasu



Series: Finding Forever on the First [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Guilt, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-10-04 04:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20464955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandaterasu/pseuds/amandaterasu
Summary: *** Major Shadowbringers' Spoilers ***Many years ago, Y'shtola Rhul made a choice that would have lasting consequences for both she and Thancred Waters. Now she just has to learn to live with it.*** This work is a sequel toWhat Dreams May Come. ***





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Everyone, most especially those of you joining us from my WOL/Urianger fic, _What Dreams May Come_!
> 
> This is fic 2/4 in this series, and will bounce between Y'shtola and Thancred's perspectives as necessary. 
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you think!

**An Arguable Number of Years Ago, On the Source**

Y’shtola raced down the steps, side by side with Minfilia. The Warrior of Light had been accused of murdering the Sultana of Ul’dah, Nanamo Ul Namo, and all the Scions were considered her co-conspirators.

_Madness,_ Y’shtola thought, glancing back at her compatriots. They had been working hard to bring Ishgard back into the Eorzean Alliance, and now all of that was in tatters, but she did not yet know the cause. But she _would_ find out, and put right whatever had been made askew in Ul’dah, that was for damn sure.

They rounded a corner, and Y’shtola breathed a quiet sigh of relief as a familiar Hyur nearly stumbled into her.

“Aah! There you are!” he said nonchalantly, as if he weren’t also running at full speed toward them. Beside her, Minfilia let out her own sigh.

“Thancred!” Y’shtola cried as they skidded to a stop in the hall just outside the Sultana’s quarters. “Where have you been?”

He shrugged, grinning roguishly. “Avoiding the fumbling advances of some _very_ persistent admirers.” He crossed his arms and turned his attention to Minfilia. “When I realized the celebrations had turned sour, it seemed prudent to slip away and take stock of the situation. ‘Twould appear that much of the city is already under tight guard. It occurs to me that expanding the Brass Blades’ authority may not have been such a wonderful idea after all.”

Papalymo raised his hand to his chin in thought. “The success of this plan was contingent upon those thugs having the run of the place. Just how long has this scheme been in motion?”

Y’shtola nodded in agreement. “The careful preparations, the maneuvering of forces… I am inclined to agree with the General’s insistence that a deeper plot exists here.”

“So…” Yda said, “would I be right in thinking we now have an excuse to pummel as many Brass Blades as we like?”

“Unless you plan on pummeling them _all_, I’m not sure that will greatly aid our cause,” the Lalafell replied.

“The sultana’s assassination was but one part of the scheme,” Minfilia declared. “We too were its targets. And though we did not share poor Nanamo’s fate, we are yet hobbled by the charges laid at our door. Where now might we seek refuge?”

“Where indeed,” Papalymo agreed. “We may safely assume that our foe has thought to have the Rising Stones watched.”

“Forgive me for stating the obvious,” Thancred interjected, smiling winsomely. “But our choice of destination will matter _little_ if we cannot secure an escape route out of Ul’dah. Happily, I believe I can provide one. Papashan once told me about the passages hidden in the walls of the palace. If I recall correctly, the fireplace in Nanamo’s chambers conceals the entrance to a tunnel.” He surveyed them all, one by one. “It should lead outside the city, and allow us to avoid any messy confrontations.”

* * *

They raced down the tunnel, attempting to avoid the pursuers. “Well, that didn’t take long,” Thancred laughed. “It seems these tunnels were not as secret as I had hoped.”

Y’shtola slowed to a stop, and turned back to face the enemy, still only shadows on the distant walls. “You two, go on ahead,” she said, steeling herself for the coming battle. “Thancred and I will deal with this.”

Minfilia frowned as Thancred walked past her to stand beside the Miqo’te. “Wh-What do you mean to do?”

Y’shtola shrugged. “Only that which is required to ensure that the dawn’s light survive to brighten the morrow.” _Gods,_ she thought, _I’m starting to sound like Urianger._

Thancred grinned at Minfilia. “Fear not, Antecedent. You haven’t seen the last of these fair features.” He winked.

_Damn that insufferable man,_ Y’shtola thought.

“My friends,” Minfilia said, her voice quavering with oncoming tears, but she took the lantern Thancred offered her.

“Leave us,” Y’shtola commanded, and though they hesitated, Minfilia and the Champion ran off down a bend in the tunnel.

After their footsteps had faded into silence, Y’shtola turned back to face the oncoming enemy.

“What is the plan, milady?” Thancred asked, ever the flirt. “Shall I take the dozen on the left, you the dozen on the right? The odds are not exactly stacked in our favor…”

She chuckled. “Numbers will count for little when i bring the tunnel down upon their heads, though I cannot say I relish the thought of being entombed with you for all _eternity_.” Her own thoughts spun wildly, calculating. His aether was slightly more fire- and wind-aspected than hers, and she drew some up. This plan was foolish, reckless, and almost certain to earn her everyone’s ire, but Thancred had the right of it - if they did not escape, nothing mattered beyond that.

Thancred gasped in mock insult. “You wound me! I will have you know that many a maid would _kill_ for a chance to spend forever at my side!” He gave her that winning, roguish smile, that had worked on a thousand hearts, but never hers. “Now, may I have the last dance?”

_What irony,_ she thought, as he drew his daggers and stood before her. _Master Matoya would find this deliciously ironic._ She resolved that if they survived this, she would tell him, one day - once he was happily married to Minfilia, once she had killed her own heart. 

She began to draw upon the aether, spinning it to strands, while Thancred held off the coming onslaught. The problem with her plan, the only way she could stop the pursuers _and_ save them both, is that it used a lot of forbidden magic. Using any one of these spells would have seen her expelled from Sharlayan, and worse besides, if she’d been caught. But Sharlayan was a memory, and if Thancred were to see the dawn again, for dear Minfilia, then sacrifices must be made. _Flow_ only worked with one’s own soul. You couldn’t command another soul to shuck its aether and enter the Lifestream. So her only option remained before her - _bind_ Thancred’s soul to hers, make it part of her, then send them both into the aetherial river, hoping against hope that they found their way out, somehow.

_Thancred_, she thought, despairing. _If we escape this, I will find a way to free you. I swear it._

An arrow hit Thancred’s leg, and he threw a dagger at the man holding a lantern, causing him to drop it into the water, extinguishing its light - but more footsteps could be heard in the dark.

“Well, this is going splendidly…” Thancred called over his shoulder. “Now would be a good time, milady.”

She called to the stones overhead, and thought of her sister. She was leaving the girl alone, and it broke her heart. “Forgive me, Mhitra,” She whispered.

Thancred sighed, “Farewell, Minfilia.”

As the rocks began to fall, Y’shtola pulled all of her magicks into one last, desperate spell. She felt a great rush of wind, and knew nothing else.

* * *

**On the First**

Y’shtola looked down at the book Urianger had handed her. The Champion, her dearest friend, was finally here, and it seemed he sought to _bind_ himself to her, but there were more pressing concerns, like seeking the Lightwarden of Rak’tika.

“Hast thou told him, my lady?” the Elezen asked. His voice was gentle, and bore no malice. Urianger had been the only one to discover what she had done - at least the only one who’d ever asked her about it.

“No,” Y’shtola said, running her fingers over the cover, studiously ignoring the tears falling from her face onto the book, and the way her heart twisted in pain every time _he_ stormed away from her in anger. “And I never will.”


	2. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The friends meet up for Nightfall, 2 years after Amaurot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying some new stuff with the formatting, using strike-throughs to represent thoughts people don't want to admit/accept they are having.
> 
> Let me know what you think, or if it's too intrusive. I hope you like it.

**Nightfall**   
**Two Years after Amaurot**   
**Thancred**

“So I’m thinking of taking an adventure,” Y’shtola told Urianger, unrolling the map across the table in the Ocular. “Talking to the Viis, I’ve learned of the existence of more Ronkan ruins. I know it might not be a direct help us get back to the Source, but after what your wife said about Lamitt finding healing magic within Ronkan ruins, I wonder what other secrets are there, waiting to be uncovered.”

The Elezen looked at the map. “‘Tis three days journey from Fanow over the roots?”

“Yes,” she traced the path she proposed with her finger, slowly. “We’ll call it a week, for there and return, and say, two weeks to explore the ruins?”

“Found it!” G’raha Tia called. He hefted a bottle of wine in one hand, and Alisaie stood from the table. 

“Well,” the girl said, “We’ll leave you to talk him into it, then. I’m going to go celebrate.”

The Exarch and Alisaie headed out, leaving Y’shtola alone with Thancred and Urianger.

“So, do you think they’re…” Thancred made a lewd hand gesture. 

“He be literally centuries older than she, Thancred,” Urianger chided. “Thou ought not impugn his character so.”

“Indeed,” Y’shtola agreed. “You should be asking yourself where Ryne and Alphinaud are right now.”

Thancred rolled his eyes. “Ryne is in her room, trying on that dress Alisaie bought her before the festivities start.”

“Yes,” Urianger mused, and his face crept into a wicked smirk. “The dress Alisaie, who has spent the last year attempting to push them together, bought for the object of her brother’s affections.”

“He’s too old for her!” _Over my dead body._ Thancred grumbled. “He’s nearing twenty! She’s _fifteen!_” <s>Only have a problem when it’s not you?</s> he pushed the unwelcome thought away.

“My lady wife be a full fifteen years younger than I,” Urianger mused. “And it may be further proof that thy suspicions of Lady Alisaie are correct, if she hath no issue with large age differences.”

“She did pursue Urianger,” Y’shtola reminded, without looking up from the map, <s>Look at me</s> and Thancred wanted to throttle her. “Where is she anyway?”

“Lady Alisaie?” Urianger asked, “She just -”

“No, my heart-sister,” Y’shtola said, scowling. “I want to ask her to come with me on this little adventure. I don’t want to overly disturb the ruins, but having someone with a blade at my side would more prudent than going alone.”

Thancred raised an eyebrow as Urianger’s face went pale, then his cheeks flushed. “She is otherwise engaged, Lady Y’shtola.”

Thancred glanced at the Miqo’te. As usual, she wasn’t looking at him, but she did speak up. “Otherwise engaged doing _what?_ Normally we have to pry you two apart. Yet tonight she is mysteriously absent.”

Urianger’s blushed, and he sank into his chair. “‘Tis a small, personal errand.”

“She’s at the Spagyrics,” Alphinaud said, flopping into a seat at the table. Thancred realized he had been too distracted watching <s>Y’shtola</s> the others to hear him enter. “Ryne saw her there and we went to say hello, but then I was sent away.”

“You were with Ryne?” Thancred asked, his irritation only growing. <s>Too old. Five years is unacceptable, nine years is fine.</s> “Doing what?”

“Trying to teach her to summon a carbuncle,” Alphinaud said, sighing and leaning on his hand. “_Trying_ being the operative word.”

“I told you, Alphinaud, you’re just bad at explaining it,” Ryne said, pushing her way into the room. As she walked around the table, she passed behind Thancred, and hugged him tightly, but she didn’t take her eyes off the boy. “You owe me another one.”

Alphinaud sputtered. “Already? For what?” Last year, as her reward for winning the bet on when the Warrior of Darkness would return to Urianger to be _bound_, Alphinaud had made her a small pendant from aetheryte, carved into the shape of a stem of hyacinths. Now, every time she won another bet, she’d demanded a new pendant from the boy. He had gotten very, _very_ good at shaping aetheryte.

“You’ll see,” Ryne settled into the seat between Thancred and Alphinaud, and drew her knees up to her chest. “Rak’tika?”

Y’shtola nodded. “I am going to ask _her Ladyship_,” She kicked Urianger under the table in affectionate teasing, “to come with me on this adventure.”

Ryne made a face. 

“What was _that_ for?” Alphinaud asked the girl. 

“I said you’ll see,” Ryne repeated.

“Do be nice to the boy, Ryne,” Y’shtola said, still not looking up. “They’re all idiots.”

“Just so, my lady,” Urianger agreed.

“Come now, give Alphinaud a little more credit,” Thancred said, jumping in to defend the lad, “He’s getting better with time.”

“If he can do it, why can’t you?” The Miqo’te’s eyes remained locked on the map.

Thancred stood. “All right, I’ve had about enough -” 

The Champion came in, and Y’shtola looked up immediately. Thancred’s hands clenched into fists, and he screamed internally. _Couldn’t even lift her head to insult me…_ He had been telling himself that she was just absorbed in her work and plans, but he knew, as usual, that wasn’t true. It was another calculated show of disrespect, of how little he mattered to her.

“There you are, sister,” Y’shtola said. “I trust all is well?”

“Yes,” the Champion said, drifting toward Urianger. Thancred had always been a little jealous of how for them, at least, everything had worked out. He was quite happy for them, but he couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like to have that with Minfilia <s>or Y’shtola</s>. Urianger didn’t even have to look at his wife, he knew where she was, and he pulled out the chair beside him in perfect time with her movements. They’d only been living together without all the adventuring for a year. What could he have had with Minfilia, if he hadn’t wasted all that time? <s>Y’shtola</s>

“Good,” Y’shtola said, snapping Thancred out of his mental carousel. “I want you to come with me on an adventure.”

“An adventure?” the Champion asked, leaning against the table, and Y’shtola launched into a description of her planned expedition. When she finished, having traced a path through Rak’tika to a set of ruins, and allowing for a few weeks of exploration, the Champion asked, “When are you planning on leaving?”

“If I could I’d leave tonight,” Y’shtola laughed. “But I’ll wait till the end of the festival if you like.” <s>Laugh again.</s>

Urianger raised an eyebrow at his wife, but she shook her head. “Maybe we could go next year?”

“A year?” Y’shtola asked, shocked. “_Why?_”

The Champion glanced askance. “Your concoction isn’t as effective as you think.”

Y’shtola’s brow furrowed in confusion, but Urianger’s face broke into a wide smile. “Thy visit to the Spagyrics did go well, it seems.”

Alphinaud sighed and reached into his satchel, pulling out an unworked piece of aetheryte, and turned to Ryne. “Any special requests?” 

The girl lifted her necklace of floral pendants <s>Like a strand of war trophies</s> and looked them over. “A type of flower from the Source. One I have never seen before.”

“I still don’t understand,” Y’shtola said. “Which concoction? What does this have to do with the ruins?”

Thancred leaned back and put his feet on the table, smirking at Y’shtola. “Who’s the last chocobo across the finish line this time?”

The Miqo’te slammed her hand down on the map and finally <s>finally</s> looked at him. Then Thancred wished she hadn’t. Her unseeing eyes were a bleeding wound, shadowed and empty and full of despair, and torn from him, back to the map, almost immediately. <s>Look at me again.</s>

Urianger glanced anxiously between the two of them. “She is attempting to find a delicate way to tell thee that she is with child, Lady Y’shtola.”

“I promised Urianger,” the Champion said, “He’s fine with me risking our lives in my adventures, but not a child’s.” Urianger leaned over and pressed his face into the Champion’s hair as she continued. “So… it will be a year, at least, before I can do any real adventuring. And especially considering I’ll be going back to the Source for the birth -” Urianger didn’t lift his face from her hair, but Thancred could see the way he winced at that, “If you want me to go with you, you’ll have to wait.”

“I’ll go.”

Everyone turned to look at Thancred, <s>except Y’shtola</s> and he looked down at himself. The words must have just slipped out. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his flask, opened it, and took a sip of the strong whiskey within. _In for a gil, in for the whole bloody Saucer_. He looked up at Y’shtola. “I’ll go with you.” <s>Wherever you like.</s> “You just need a good sword at your side.” <s>I can do that.</s> “I don’t really have much to do now that Ryne’s been so focused on her studies to assist with her work in the Empty.” <s>All I do is drink and try not to think about you.</s> “I had half a mind to start looking for adventuring work anyway.” <s>Liar.</s> “It’ll be nice to get my feet wet with someone who at least knows what they’re doing.” <s>Maybe now you’ll see me.</s>

Urianger and Thancred made eye contact. “‘Tis an elegant solution.” _Oh, he’s definitely scheming,_ Thancred thought.

Y’shtola closed her eyes. “Do you think he can keep up?” she asked, tartly.

Thancred snorted. “You imbue bullets for me, and I’ll make sure you don’t wander off a root because you sense a magic bauble in the abyss below.”

The Miqo’te gave the Champion a pleading look, but she just leaned forward and grabbed her hand. “It’ll be fun, Shtola. Maybe you two will stop bickering all the time.” <s>If we stop bickering, she’ll never talk to me at all.</s>

“Fat chance of that,” Alphinaud commented, and Ryne giggled.

* * *

Y’shtola was already waiting at the Amaro Launch when Thancred arrived the next morning, a single bag slung over his shoulder.

“I thought we’d agreed to leave at dawn,” she said.

“Good morning to you, too,” Thancred retorted. “Urianger had a bit much to drink last night, so I was returning him to his wife.”

“_Urianger_ had too much to drink?”

“Unlike him, I can handle my liquor,” he said, patting the shoulder of one of the amaro affectionately.

“That’s good, considering you’re always drinking.” Her tone was harsh, but he ignored it.

“So, the plan is to take an amaro to Fanow, then proceed from there?”

Y’shtola nodded. “The entrance is supposed to be about three days walk northeast of the Great Pyramid of Ux’ner. Records show that it stretches further northeast, and I think part of it may be lost in the Empty, but I’d like to explore what we can.”

Thancred patted her shoulder and she <s>leaned into it</s> pushed him away. He swallowed, but said, “Well… we should get going. I’m sorry I was late.”

She pulled herself up onto the amaro, and glanced down at <s>him</s> the ground by his feet. “I’ll see you there.” Then her amaro lifted her away into the sky.

Once she was little more than a black dot on the horizon, he punched the post to which the amaro he’d rented was tied. “Thank you for coming with me, Thancred.” He punched it again. “You’re doing me a huge favor, Thancred.” He punched it a third time. “Sorry I’m such a frigid bitch that I can’t even look you in the eye, Thancred.” He hissed and brought his hand to his lips, tugging out a splinter with his teeth, and forcing himself not to think about all the other things he was too afraid to wish she’d say.

<s>Look at me, Thancred.</s>

<s>Come with me, Thancred.</s>

<s>I need you, Thancred.</s>


	3. Pinned Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thancred and Y'shtola begin their journey into the ancient empire of Ronka.

**Y’shtola**

Y’shtola clung to the knot of aether before her. She could see the Amaro’s soul, and knew it would be capable of speech once it matured enough. This was always the hardest part, though - being away from the ground. Her aetherial sight didn’t extend as far as she liked to imply, only twenty to thirty yalms unless she focused, but that was always draining. For her, for now, there was nothing but herself, the Amaro beneath her, and a few thin strands - pearlescent spider silk - stretching behind her, towards _him_.

She closed her eyes and cursed herself for her behavior this morning. She had leaned into his touch, and hadn’t meant to. _You have to be hard, Shtola,_ she told herself. _Be courage, be steel, like your heart-sister. You don’t deserve his affection, after what you have done, so do not delude yourself into thinking you can have it._

The Amaro changed pitch, descending, and she bit her tongue to keep from screaming. Her fear of falling took over, and for a few moments all she knew was terror, as she plummeted through a void with the beast, untethered from everything save Thancred. Her fear made her want to grab the silken strands and climb them, cling to him for safety and comfort in a world so terrifyingly empty.

The Amaro began to slow its descent, and she felt relief flood her heart as the dizzying aether of Fanow rushed up to meet her, the village a series of aetheric knots connected by strands, a buzzing soul of its own. By the time they landed, she had steadied herself, the terror locked away in the back of her mind where it belonged.

A few minutes later, Thancred landed, and he ruffled the fur on top of the Amaro’s head affectionately before he approached her. She saw all this, not in his actions (for she still couldn’t bring herself to look at him without her heart breaking) but through the way the strands between them shifted and moved.

“Well, here we are!” he said, and two Viis walked by, their aether stirring in strange patterns - _attraction_, she thought idly - as they looked at him. “Hello, ladies,” he said, and Y’shtola bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making a waspish comment.

“Shall we get going?” She asked, abruptly, tugging her small satchel tight across her chest.

“Do we have everything? What will we eat for three weeks?” he laughed, and she felt the flush of it cause her own aether to stir. 

“Almet has assured me that there are plenty of nut and fruit trees in the forest, and this is the time of year for it,” She patted her satchel lightly. “But I’ve brought myself a few days worth of dried meats. Worst case scenario, we’re within a few days of Fanow, so should our supplies run out we can trek back. The area is teaming with lakes and streams, easily purified with magic, so we won’t want for water.” She began walking down the nearest rope bridge, retracing the steps she had been shown last time she was here - hidden aetheric nodes, left by the ancient Ronkans, to guide the allies that didn’t come until long after they were dust.

“If it’s so easy to get to, and supplies are in abundance, why has no one explored these ruins before now?” Thancred asked, falling into step beside her. 

“The Viis did not explore it because it was not for _them_,” Y’shtola replied. “And the Viis most carefully guarded the secrets of Ronka.”

Thancred made a disapproving noise, but sighed. “I suppose it’s not for me to question my good fortune. Ancient ruins to explore, a trek through deep jungle, a beautiful, untouchable woman?” <s>I’m not untouchable.</s> He laughed. “Sounds like a grand time.”

She groaned. “You should take this seriously. I am _relying_ on you, you know. If Urianger hadn’t been irresponsible with -”

“_Irresponsible_?” Thancred argued as they stepped off the rope bridge onto solid ground. “He and his _wife_ are having a child. What did you think was going to happen when they _bound_ themselves? Things would stay the same?”

Y’shtola’s face twisted into a scowl. “It is irresponsible of them to have a child when they are _bound_. What if she dies in the birth? The child will be orphaned in an instant.” <s>She doesn’t need me anymore.</s>

“You’re _determined_ to be angry about this, aren’t you?” Thancred scoffed. “Can’t you be happy for _anyone_ other than yourself?” His words cut her to the quick, finding the heart of the matter that she didn’t want to admit - if she couldn’t be happy, she didn’t want anyone else to be, either. 

“Besides,” Thancred continued, his voice becoming more sharp, “you think they haven’t thought about that? Why do you think she’s going back to the Source for the birth? Urianger told me last night - if something happens, Etienne and Ceillianne will take the child.” Y’shtola remembered Urianger’s older brother, though she had not had the opportunity to meet his wife. She remembered something about them already having children, and a home, in Ishgard.

Thancred’s hands, grabbing her shoulders, caught her off guard, and he spun her to face him. Pain tore through her in the instant before she closed her eyes at the sight of _their_ aether - a thousand thousand pearls suspended in the darkness, calling out to her. When she didn’t look at him, she could pretend it was just hers, that those tiny drops of captured moonlight were not the damning evidence of her greatest sin. She turned her head, pointedly looking at the ground, hoping the sight of the more subdued earth-aspected aether would calm her.

“They are both terrified, Y’shtola. Have you considered what her giving birth on the Source actually _means_?” His voice was rough, with anger and hurt and fear, but she was too wounded to even consider offering comfort. “Unless the Exarch makes a miracle in the next nine months, Urianger is going to miss his child’s birth. He will not even get to hold the babe, or her. He will, _at best_, get to watch it distantly through the Tower. 

“You talk about, _’What if she dies?’_” His voice had become accusatory. “Can you imagine that? Can you imagine what Urianger will have to deal with, watching her die before his eyes when he can do nothing to help, _knowing_ that not only is he about to die as well, but that their child is about to be orphaned?”

Y’shtola wrenched herself from his arms, and took off down the path. She could feel him, behind her, and hear his footsteps as he followed, continuing his evisceration, “And what of your _heart-sister_, Y’shtola?” His voice was getting harder and angrier with every word. “She is going back to the Source to give birth, without her husband or her best friends. She’ll be in the house of a man she barely knows, attended by the Scions’ _second-best_ healers, because all our best - Urianger, Alphinaud, and even you - are _trapped on the First_. If she dies, she dies without the comfort and companionship of those she holds most dear.”

Y’shtola stumbled over a root she had thought merely a twist of aether, but Thancred caught her in his arms, and she squeezed her eyes shut before he turned her to face him again. To her surprise, he continued the motion, and she felt her cheek pressed against the cotton drill of his coat as he pulled her close and held her against his chest. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Yet here you are, angry and hurting over _something_ that you won’t tell us, and demanding adventures. So, here I am, following where you lead, in the hopes that I can pull you out of this so we can _both_ support our dearest friends. Just as you consider her to be your ‘heart-sister’, he is my brother, in all the ways that matter. They need us.” 

Thancred set her away from him, and she looked away, only then daring to open her eyes. His voice, when he reached the end, was caring and gentle. “So lead on, Y’shtola. Let’s have your adventure. On the way, we’ll put you back together, as well, all right?”

They stood in silence for a few minutes, as she focused, willing the pearls that defined her to stop their erratic dance and return to a more sedate drift. When she was finally calm again, she straightened herself, and ruffled her hair back into place. She could feel him, waiting for her to say something.

“The cave ahead is a passage, and should lead out into another part of the jungle. Are you ready to go?” Y’shtola said, avoiding the question. She ignored his <s>concerned</s> irritated sigh.

“Yes,” Thancred replied, and the two of them pushed into the depths of Rak’tika.

* * *

The first sign of the storm was the lightning aether in the air around them increasing, along with the air and water types.

“We should find shelter,” Y’shtola said. They were a good eight hours out from the cave they had crossed through, and the remaining day had been uncomfortable and eerie silence. “It’s generally considered bad form to be beneath trees in a thunderstorm.” 

“I’ll look for a cave,” Thancred said, and she heard his footsteps receding to the left. Once he was far enough away, she turned her face up to the sky, and expanded her aetheric awareness.

The tiny circle of reality around her expanded, the cobwebs of nothingness swept away to reveal ground and grass, root and rock, weed and water, tree and tempest. She felt him examining the cliffs to the left, a shaft of aetherial moonlight piercing the dark ripples of aether that had made up her perception since her great mistake. 

Y’shtola, avoiding looking in that direction, turned instead towards the nearby river, twisting through a small ravine. She walked toward it, feeling the blades of grass brushing her boots. Water aether near stone usually implied pockets and caves. As she moved, that self same aether increased, and fat raindrops pelted her hair, making her ears flatten against her head for protection.

Once at the edge of the ravine, she began to search for the ever-elusive shadow aether. It often appeared in caves, especially those that had existed for some time, thus implying stability and safety and suitability as shelter. She was so busy searching for the aether, she didn’t notice another kind gathering around her, the lone figure on the precipice, taller than anything around for some distance.

_”Y’shtola!”_

Thancred’s cry was the only warning she had before his body slammed into her, pushing her from the ledge into the ravine. As she fell, the scent of ozone filled the air, and every hair on her body stood on end, and she looked back to find her pillar of moonlight merging with a pillar of pure lightning-aether, and Thancred screamed.

Cold, rushing water engulfed her, catching on her skirts and sleeves and pulling her along, away from him. When her face broke the surface she gasped for breath, and screamed, “_Thancred!_” into the crash of thunder. 

Instinct took over where her mind could not, and the overcharged aether in the air leapt to obey her. A cord of energy caught around a twist of earth and life aether - a root emerging from the ravine wall - and she hauled herself out of the water, slingshotting herself toward the place where Thancred had fallen. More lightning aether gathered around her, but she called to the wind, forming a sphere around herself that caused water to skitter along its surface, and the second bolt caught onto that, a shell of electricity that dispersed with another ominous roar just as her feet hit the ground by his side. The smell of burnt flesh filled her nose, but the fact that she still stood told her there was still time. 

Broken heart be damned, Y’shtola looked at Thancred and began to cast, calling on her own aether to supplement his <s>ours, it’s all ours, his and mine and mine and his and his and mine and mine and his together</s>, banishing away the lightning aether that still crawled greedily over his body, righting damaged nerves and bone and muscle and skin.

“Y’shtola…” he said weakly, and she felt the lightning aether begin to gather again. She conjured another sphere of wind around them both, and knelt by his side. “Y’shtola…” he said again, “Twelve, you’re beautiful.”

The lightning cracked down again, scattered by the shield. “You’re delirious,” she said. “And you’ve got a bloody lightning rod strapped to your back.” She examined the aether of the storm - it was too perfect, too targeted. “We have to get out of here, can you stand?” He nodded, but groaned with effort as he pulled himself up. She stood as well, pressing the sphere outward as more lightning pounded it.

“This storm is a trap,” Y’shtola said. “Intended to drive us back out of the area, back towards Fanow. It’s too perfect, too geometric, and lightning has struck at us too many times to be coincidence.” 

“How do you want to handle this?” He asked.

“Well, we can either turn back and give up, wait out the storm in the hopes that whatever magic is powering it spends itself out, or try to fight on through the storm.” Another crack of lightning skittered off her shield. “I can keep the lightning off us, but it takes all my focus. You will have to find the way.” She suddenly realized she was looking at him, and turned away as the familiar stabbing pain gnawed away at her wasted heart.

“I see a path,” Thancred said, “But it’s treacherous. I can see the pitfalls and roots, you can’t. We’ll be faster if I can carry you.”

“Fine,” she said, “but if you do anything funny I’ll drop the shield and kill us both.”

“I’m the one with the lightning rod,” he laughed, scooping her up into his arms like Runar had two years ago. It had felt wrong when the Hrothgar did it, but here, it felt so right.

Then Thancred began running, and all she could do was cling to him, and harness the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big OOF! Writing Y'shtola without including what things actually look like is difficult! But I feel like it's a good exercise in using other senses!


	4. By Ilms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thancred and Y'shtola come in out of the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice that the rating for this fic changed. That was intentional. I am a monster who writes nothing but smut. Even when that wasn't my original plan for the chapter. What was I thinking, trying to keep sex out of a Thancred fic?

**Thancred**

The lightning finally stopped when they left the valley, though the rain continued its hard, unforgiving beating without rest. For some reason he couldn’t explain to himself <s>Let me hold you just one moment more</s>, he continued to carry Y’shtola long after he was sure the lightning had stopped, until finally she let the wind sphere dissipate. “You can put me down, now, Thancred.”

“O-Oh,” he dropped her unceremoniously, but she found her feet, and straightened herself as much as she could in the downpour. “We should still find shelter.”

“Yes,” she agreed, her eyes fixed on some distant point. <s>Look at me.</s> “I can see a knot of shadow aether, that way.” She pointed to the north. “There may be a cave.”

They continued on in silence, the rain soaking through their clothing that had been dried by the wind, but Thancred kept shooting glances at her out of the corner of his eye. Y’shtola was obviously intensely uncomfortable, and he didn’t know how to go about figuring out what was wrong <s>Tell me, Y’shtola</s> \- both at this particular moment, and in general. But damn him if he wouldn’t at least _try_.

The cave was relatively small, but there was at least enough space for them to stretch out on opposite sides of the small fire he built while she stared out into the storm. _What is she looking at?_ he asked himself, but not her. <s>Look at me.</s> Not like she’d give him a real answer anyway. He opened his pack and began pulling out his things, arranging them in a semi-circle around the fire to dry out, leaving plenty of space for Y’shtola’s. That done, he finally approached her. 

“Um… this is awkward,” he laughed. She said nothing, but her ears flicked toward him, a few drops of water flying off them into his face. “H-Hey!” Thancred shook his head. “We need to dry out our clothes, or we’ll spend the next few weeks being sick instead of exploring.” Y’shtola said nothing, but he saw her jaw clench, so he thought he should continue. “I know you’re blind and probably don’t care, but I didn’t want you to be surprised by my, uh…” <s>React. Be angry. Be insulted. Just pretend I can have some effect on you.</s> He scratched his neck. “You know what, it was stupid to ask. You don’t care, and it’s not like you can see me, even if you _bothered_ to look at me for once.” 

Thancred turned away from her and unholstered his gunblade, thrusting it into the mossy dirt that made up the cave floor, then stripped off his coat, letting it hang off the grip so it would dry quickly. He made quick work of the rest of his clothes, only pausing for a moment once his chest was bare - he could have sworn he felt her looking at him, <s>Please, Twelve, _please_</s> but when he turned back, she was still staring blankly out at the storm. 

Once he was undressed, he turned back to her. He more exposed than he usually did when nude, which was surprising, as she was blind as a bat, and he probably looked like little more to her than a blob of whatever-colored aether - but he had to get this over with. “What do you want to do. Can you dry yourself with magic? Do you want me to put on a blindfold or something? I might have something that could work…”

“I’m going to find some food,” Y’shtola said, abruptly. “Come to the mouth of the cave and call for me when your coat is dry. I’ll use it to cover myself.”

“So I take it magic is a no?” he asked, laughing. <s>I won’t look. That’s a lie. I’ll try not to look. That’s a lie. I won’t tell you I’m looking.</s> “Do you want me to lay your things by the fire?”

“I spent too much aether holding off the lightning. I need to rest before I spend more than I already am keeping my vision,” Y’shtola replied. “I’ll find something to eat, then return. And yes.” She handed him her satchel and stepped out into the storm, not even flinching as rain hammered her hair and skin, then vanished between the trees. <s>Come back.</s>

“Well,” Thancred said to himself. “That went better than I expected. She didn’t toss out any wild accusations.” He flipped the satchel open and took a peek inside, unable to shake the idea that he was doing something more intimate than staring at her body, going through her bag. 

All told, Thancred spent an hour examining the contents, carefully holding each item up to the firelight before setting it on the ground to dry out. <s>All the things she couldn’t bear to live without.</s> Finally, he went to turn the bag itself out. As he grabbed the edge, he felt something hard, and frowned, digging through the rough canvas to find a secret pocket, and inside, two seemingly random items: a finely polished moonstone, and an expended bullet casing from _his_ gunblade. 

At first he couldn’t believe it, but when he walked over, it was a direct match from the unspent bullets sitting as far from the fire as he could get away with - and he had these custom made in the Crystarium. He shrugged, and set them out next to her other things near the fire, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something - something vitally important.

He glanced at the sinking sun outside. Regardless of what how dry the damn coat was, it would get chilly in the dark, and he wasn’t going to nurse her through a deep chill as well as whatever had made her so fractious.

“Y’SHTOLA!” he called into the downpour, only to have her voice reply from right beside him.

“I’m right here.” He nearly jumped out of his skin when she spoke, staring away from him into the cave. <s>Look at me.</s>

“Oh,” Thancred stammered. “Did you find anything?” He glanced down at the top layer of her skirt, which was folded upward into a makeshift apron, clutched into one of her hands.

“I did. Turn around.” 

“What?”

She turned her head to the side, not looking at him, but he could see a smirk pull up the corner of her mouth, revealing her sharp Miqo’te canines. <s>Those teeth dragging over my skin.</s> “You’re not getting the pleasure of watching me undress, Thancred. Now _turn around_.”

“R-right,” His turn to stare at the storm then. The cold air was good for him, and the unexpected erection he had at the idea of it.

Just after he felt like himself again, Y’shtola said, “All right, you can turn around.” Thancred turned back, only to find all the help the cold rain had been immediately undone at the sight of her wrapped in his coat and _nothing else_. It was oversized on her, making her look as delicate as he knew she wasn’t. Shapely legs slipped out the bottom, the front opening held shut over her breasts, but open over her legs, just barely covering whatever secrets lie between her thighs.

Her eyes raked up his body, <s>Finally, finally, Y’shtola, keep looking, please.</s> and if he didn’t know better he would have believed she could actually see him.

* * *

**Y’shtola**

_This was a very, _very_ bad Idea, Shtola,_ she told herself. But she let herself drink in the sight of him, _him_ limned in water aether from the rain. For the first time, she could drink in every ilm of him, and her traitorous heart wouldn’t let her do anything else. _What was that Urianger says all the time? ‘I shalt not miss heaven by ilms.’_ She chuckled. _Well, I’m already damned for what I’ve done. And Thancred won’t begrudge me a look._

* * *

**Thancred**

After a meal of creamy fruit and small white nuts the shape of half-moons, Y’shtola sighed. “I need some sleep. Will you take first watch?”

“Watch?” he asked.

“We are _surrounded_ by uncharted jungle that even Almet and the other Viis do not enter. Who knows what lurks between the trees?” She laughed. “Wake me up when you need to sleep, Thancred.”

“All right, Shtola,” he said, then froze upon realizing he’d left her tribal sound off. He looked up to apologize, but she was looking at him again, and he could have sworn he was being _seen_ in a way he wasn’t ready to name yet. “Sorry,” he started, “I shouldn’t have -”

“It’s all right,” her voice was soft. “You…” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice shook. “You can call me that, Thancred.” Then she turned away from him and curled in upon herself on her side, still wrapped in his coat.

Thancred grabbed his flask, and did little else but drink and stare out at the storm, letting his mind wander over what her sudden change in behavior could mean.

* * *

A loud pop from the fire pulled Thancred from his half-doze.

_Shit,_ he thought, looking about, and relaxed to see their things were intact - then his eyes moved to Y’shtola.

_Oh…_ Sometime in her sleep she’d rolled onto her back, and the coat was thrown open, revealing everything. 

Thancred couldn’t help himself. He looked. He let his eyes move slowly, so slowly, up the delicate curve of her calf, <s>Yes</s> her voluptuous, kissable thighs, <s>Fuck, yes</s> the smattering of soft white down between them, <s>Twelve, yes, _yes!_</s> the gentle swell of her stomach before it smoothed again just above her belly button, <s>Shtola</s> her pert breasts with their large areolas and peaked nipples, rising and falling with her ragged breaths, -

_Wait, ragged breaths?_ Thancred swallowed and tried to focus. She was breathing heavily, her face flushed. _Oh, Gods, is she sick?_ He stood to go to her, but she rolled her head to the side, her eyes closed, and made a soft mewl, his heart leaping into his throat. He knew that sound. He’d been with enough Miqo’te to _know_ that sound. She was aroused, and based off the way her eyes moved behind her eyelids, she was dreaming.

Thancred put a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. The great and imposing Y’shtola Rhul, on her back, mewling for some imagined lover. _Probably Runar,_ <s>Please no</s> he thought. _Given his behavior when Emet-Selch brought her back, I’m not surprised they’re lovers._ <s>She’s not his! No!</s>

He turned to find his undershirt to throw over her, trying desperately to ignore his erection, when she mewled again, and called a name.

“Thancred…”

He stood, and turned back slowly to look at her, his mouth dry. One of her hands lifted from her side and settled in her hair beside her head, and he followed it with his eyes the whole way. His mind raced, trying to figure out what he should _do_, his eyes roaming her face, when she sighed, and he watched her soft lips move to form his name again, half-moan, half-mewl, and all invitation - if she had been awake.

Thancred’s mind promptly shut down. Desperate with need, he stormed out of the cave, grabbed a branch with his offhand to keep himself upright, and wrapped his main hand around his cock. He closed his eyes and imagined her beneath him, on his coat, just like he’d seen her only moments before, but her eyes were open, and she was laughing, pulling him close of her own volition. In his mind she murmured his name the way she had, again and again, and when he came he would have sworn to any god of any world that he could taste cinnamon.


	5. The Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thancred and Y'shtola continue their exploration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't the best, but I found myself having trouble rewriting the scenes over and over again, and felt I couldn't get them right. I finally decided to just post it as is and move on.

**Y’shtola**

Y’shtola yawned and sat up, rubbing her face. She was surrounded by earth aether, and some shadow, but most of it had been banished by the bright spot of fire aether in the middle of the cave. She searched out her things, each imbued with different types of aether to make them easier to see, and quickly dressed, giving her hair a few quick fluffs with her hands before taking up her staff and wandering towards the cave entrance, where the earth aether retreated to the place below her feet and wind and light aether filled the air. 

The threads that sprang from her own soul lead off, further to the Northeast, and she grumbled. _He was supposed to wake me…_ For a terrible moment, she feared something had happened to him, then remembered that if she was still here, then so was he. _Still, better make sure he’s not injured._

* * *

“Thancred!” Y’shtola called, but he did not answer. She was not sure where she was going, but the strings would lead her to him, regardless. “Thancre-” She stopped, and looked away as soon as she saw him up ahead, standing near a sharp drop off, where the aether she trod upon stopped and fell away, revealing nothing but random motes of wind.

“There you are.” He said, and she felt his eyes on her, even though she couldn’t see them.

“You were supposed to wake me.”

“It was morning, and you were safe,” his voice seemed strange, as if he was hiding something.

“Right…” She frowned, but let it go. “Well, regardless, I’m ready to go. Are you?”

“I. That is.” Thancred’s words were strangely clipped. “Breakfast.”

“What?”

“I made you breakfast,” he said, slowing down. “I thought you might be hungry.”

Y’shtola laughed. “That’s unusually considerate. What did you make?”

“I’m always this considerate!” His voice sounded as though he was pouting. “I found some oranges, and a few other things. Here.” Suddenly she saw their aether, as he pressed a bowl into her hands. “Eat. Enjoy the wind. I’ll gather my things and we can go.” His footsteps retreated past her.

_Well,_ Y’shtola thought to herself. _That was strange._

* * *

**Thancred**

“Twelve, Thancred, you’re an idiot,” he grumbled to himself as he tossed his possessions into his rucksack. “_I made you breakfast,_” he mocked himself. “You’re not even good at cooking. Why would you decide to try that to get on her good side?” He ran a hand through his hair, then reached for his coat, and pulled it to his face. He could still smell her cinnamon on it, and he groaned inwardly. “You are done for, Thancred.”

He pulled it back around his shoulders, and it fit just the same, but now he was so much more _aware_. It had touched Y’shtola, all over her, and now every time he felt the fabric shift against his skin, he remembered the sight of her last night. “Got to get it _together_. It’s just a momentary infatuation.”

Thancred found Y’shtola where he’d left her, eating the sorry excuse for a breakfast he’d made, fruit and nuts in a bowl. It had seemed an excellent idea in his post-coital haze, but now he just felt pathetic. As he approached, she looked up, but not at him. “Hello, Thancred. Thank you for breakfast.” Then she smiled.

_Oh, no, Thancred, you cannot_, he screamed internally. _You can_not_ fall for her. You can’t have her. She’s Runar’s._ <s>Never</s> “No problem,” he said, in an attempt to be offhand. _You’re better with women than this, Thancred, come on._

“We should really get going, though. Did you eat?” She asked.

“Yes, Y’shtola,” he said, and she laughed.

“I told you last night, you can call me Shtola. But, that’s good. The entrance should be another two-ish days to the northeast.” She stood, and smiled at the ground. <s>Look at me</s>

“All right, Shtola,” though it had come easily to him last night, the name was strange to him now. A good strange, though.

They walked on for three or four hours, and the jungle became more and more dense, great, roping vines hanging from the trees, and sudden unexpected drop offs. After the third time Y’shtola nearly fell into a hole, Thancred grabbed her. “All right, what’s wrong? I know you’re blind, but usually you can find your way around without too much trouble.”

“The aether here…” she murmured, staring at the ground. “It’s… strange.”

“Strange, how?” He took a few steps closer to her.  
“The earth is…” she knelt, and touched her hand to the ground. “The aether is moving too quickly. It’s flowing like water.”

Realization dawned on Thancred a moment later, and he rushed forward. “Shtola, get out of there!”

But it was too late.

The ground beneath her yawned open as an earthquake rocked the forest, and she tumbled on the edge of the chasm, and fell in. Without thought, without warning, Thancred grabbed one of the vines and dove in after her, hoping against hope that he would be fast enough.

**Y’shtola**

_We’re going to die._

The thought seemed eerily calming as the earth aether fell away from her, and she fell into the newly formed chasm, the distant roaring of the stone the only sound that reached her through the blackness.

_Thancred, I’m sorry._

She looked up, hoping for a glimpse of those strings, one last time, filled with regret for all the things undone. To her surprise, the matrix of aether that was Thancred himself was falling toward her, and she reached up towards him.

“Save me,” she whispered.

His hand grasped her forearm, and she grabbed his, and he pulled her close, the two of them falling together until the vine pulled taut.

“I’ve got you,” Thancred whispered. “I won’t let go. Can you climb up?” 

His grip still tight on her arm, she let go of him, and slowly wriggled up until she knew, in the back of her mind, she was looking into his eyes, and she put her arms around his neck.

“Twelve, Shtola, you’re terrified,” he whispered. “Hold on to me. I’ll get us out of here.”

“I-I am.” Her voice was shaking.

“With your legs,” he said, and she felt his forehead press against hers. “I’ll need my arms and legs as free as possible. Your legs are stronger, you’ll have a better grip.”

“R-right…” She carefully wrapped her legs around him, and tried not to think about the dream she had last night.

Thancred’s arms moved, and she pressed her face into his chest. She felt him reach up over their heads, and try to shift his weight, only to slide back down. “The vine’s covered in some kind of slime.”

Y’shtola felt the panic begin to overtake her again. “Oh, we’re definitely going to die.” Her breathing came faster and faster, and she started to get dizzy.

“Shtola, Shtola,” he said, and made a soft shushing noise. “It’s all right. I have an idea, but I need you to calm down. We’re going to be fine. We have time. Now, let’s get you less panicky, and we’ll get out of here.”

“Hard not to panic!” Her voice was shrill to her own ears. “I’m in the middle of a void of nothing with only you and this vine.”

“Right.” She felt him nod against her hair. “Shtola, did you know I used to be a bard?”

“What?” She laughed, a little hysterically. 

“Yes, ladies love bards, so of course I went with it.”

“But you’re a rogue,” she countered.

“A gunbreaker. But before that, a rogue, and before _that_, a bard.” Thancred said.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“When I’m afraid, I sing,” he said. “You should try it.”

“No, I don’t sing.” Y’shtola dug her fingernails into his coat, and inhaled the scent of gunsmoke that always lingered near him.

“Everyone sings, usually badly, but everyone sings,” he said, teasing. “I promise not to tell, but I want you to sing for me.”

“Why?”

“It will give you something to focus on - the words, the melody, how ridiculous you feel. Your brain will have to push the panic aside.” He kissed her forehead absently, and her cheeks hurt. _Twelve…_ she realized. _I’m blushing._ “So sing a song for me, and I will get us out of here. I swear, I won’t tell a soul. I can’t move until you calm down. You’re shaking too much. So sing for me, Shtola, and it will all be all right.”

The silence stretched on for minutes, and, still terrified, her voice shaking, she sang.

_”In every heart, there is a room - a sanctuary safe and strong,”_

Thancred’s weight shifted, and he began to wheel his legs back and forth, slowly.

_”To heal the wounds from lovers past, until a new one comes along.”_ her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, but she kept singing, at his request.

_”I spoke to you, in cautious tones. You answered me with no pretense.”_ She felt his eyes on her as they started to sway, but he was right, she was calming down.

_”And still I feel I said too much - my silence is my self defense.”_ Y’shtola heard her voice coming back to her, echoing off the distant stone walls. She wasn’t in an endless void, at least, even though she knew that was nonsense.

_”And every time I’ve held a rose, it seems I only felt the thorns.”_ They began to sway more, and she realized they were swinging, back and forth, between great stone walls, like a pendulum, the edges of this place flickering in and out of her vision as they got closer.

_”And so it goes, and so it goes, and so will you soon I suppose.”_ Her voice faltered, and she stilled, pressing her lips together.

“Don’t stop,” Thancred whispered, and that strange tone from that morning had come back into his voice. “Don’t stop yet, Shtola.”

_”But if my silence made you leave, then that would be my worst mistake.”_ She could tell they were getting closer to the walls.

_”So I will share this room with you, and you can have this heart to break.”_ It was only as Y’shtola felt the stone wall brush against her skirts that she realized she was crying. She held him tighter, burying her face in his hair.

_”And this is why my eyes are closed, It’s just as well for all I’ve seen.”_ She felt his arms move, one to tighten its hold on the rope to bear both their weight, the other reaching for his gunblade.

_”And so it goes, and so it goes, and you’re the only one who knows.”_ Thancred grunted softly, and for a moment, they were suspended in midair, the vine lost, before his blade plunged into the rock, holding them both against the wall.

She stilled and his now free hand moved up towards something, and she felt him pulling them up on a ledge. “Don’t… stop,” he grunted, carrying them both up.

_”So I would choose to be with you - that’s if the choice were mine to make.”_ He rolled them both onto the unusually smooth stone of the ledge. 

_”But you can make decisions, too, and you can have this heart to break.”_ She released him, and expanded her sight, surprised to find themselves at the entrance of a stonework tunnel, heading off towards the northeast.

Thancred’s hands came down on her shoulders, and slid down her arms, before wrapping around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. His voice picked up where she’d left off, soft and longing in her ear.

_”And so it goes, and so it goes, and you’re the only one who knows.”_

* * *

**Thancred**

His heart was racing in his chest. _Twelve. Twelve, I’m an idiot._ It all made so much sense - Y’shtola was in love with him. She knew his reputation, and she wasn’t the stereotypical ‘down for anything’ Miqo’te. In this one instance, with her, his reputation worked against him. 

“That’s why you’ve been so aggravated with me all these years,” he whispered, looking down the tunnel ahead, but only thinking of the woman in his arms. She said nothing. “Shtola, I…” These years since that bloody banquet all clicked around him, a thousand questions he had never asked, content to rule her a frigid bitch, when in truth she was fighting to protect herself.

_From me,_ he thought, and the shame of it made him want to retch. How hard had she fought? How many nights had she wept? How many times had he thrown cruelty at her for imagined slights, intended only to keep her carefully crafted walls in place?

After a moment, she pulled herself away. “This tunnel goes on. There’s probably an exit, or these may be the ruins themselves.”

“Shtola -” Thancred began, but she kept speaking.

“We should proceed, as we don’t know where to find fresh water down here.” Y’shtola’s feet carried her forward.

“Wait, Shtola, I -”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Thancred saw she had turned back to face him. “I am not interested in being another one of your _conquests_.” Her voice was bitter and hard. “Thank you for your help.” She looked away again, and she went on.

_No,_ his mind screamed. _No, Shtola, come back._ Thancred’s hands found his face as he realized the horror of what had happened between them these last few years. She had realized her feelings, built a thousand parapets around her heart, and frozen herself, to avoid being hurt. By his very presence, he had hurt her - he had pushed the issue, put her in impossible situations, acted the fool to make her angry, and proved again and again that he would _only_ hurt her.

He swallowed, once, and firmed his resolve, seeing her turn a corner up ahead, then tugged his gunblade from the stone. _Shtola, I will make it right. I’ll be the man I should have been, if that’s what will get you to let go and love me._

* * *

**Y’shtola**

In a small alcove, surrounded by shadow aether, Y’shtola buried her face in her hands, and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Y'shtola sings is "And So It Goes" by Billy Joel, from the album _Storm Front_.


	6. Don't Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thancred and Y'shtola explore the ruins a bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Now that I got past my little spell of writer's block on this one, we should be good, though these chapters may take a little longer than other fics. I hope you like it! Let me know what you think, either in reviews or on twitter!

**Thancred**

Y’shtola was in a large cavernous room, when Thancred found her again, walking along the walls and looking up at the ancient murals of various animal-headed men in strange scenes. Her eyes were red, and for a moment he was overcome with a desire to try and make it alright again. _Just one more hurt to add to the list,_ he thought, grimly.

“Shtola, I -” he began, but she cut him off.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice was firm, her back, rigid. “Tell me what you see.”

Thancred stepped back, and looked up at the ancient carvings, faded with time and slightly cracked from roots. “A lot of people with animal heads?”

Y’shtola sighed in exasperation. “Doing _what_?”

“Standing in a circle,” Thancred growled, frustration growing in him. “Does it really matter, we need to -”

She turned to face him, but he could tell she was looking at the wall behind him. “It matters more than you might realize. In case you have forgotten, we _fell_ into this place. We don’t know where to find an exit, we don’t know where the nearest source of potable water is, and we don’t even know what things might be lurking in this ruin. Every scrap of information could be valuable. I understand you want to talk. I really do. And if you’d asked me in Dravania, I might have told you then. However, I am disinclined to do so now.” Y’shtola closed her eyes and turned towards the murals. “I will make a bargain with you, Thancred. If you drop it, and do not discuss it, and help me to the best of your abilities to get through these ruins, then when we return to the Crystarium, we can talk about it.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Shtola.” Thancred said, gritting his teeth. Twelve, he would.

She smiled. “Like I’d expect anything less. Now. What are the people with animal heads doing?”

Thancred looked up at the mural again, focusing on it. “As I said, they’re standing in a circle. One of them, with an owl head, is in the middle, holding something up?”

“Can you see what it is?” Shtola asked, pressing her hand against the stone wall.

“Not from here, I’ll have to climb up,” Thancred said, “Give me a moment.”

He hooked one hand on a carved border of twining snakes that formed a makeshift ledge, and hauled himself up, then scooted along until he reached the edge of the mural, where the wall had been carved to resemble a pillar, and shimmied up until he could hook his fingers along a decorative bevel, and lean out. “It looks like some kind of triskelion. Very angular.”

She nodded. “Thank you. The next mural?”

He climbed back down to the snake-border, and scooted along. “The Triskelion’s much larger here. Something’s coming out of it. All… dark and flowing.”

Y’shtola tapped her chin. “Perhaps an Ascian… The next?” 

“The Owl headed one is back again. He’s pushed something white and round into the darkness, it seems to be retreating from it.” Thancred glanced down at her, but all he could see was the top of her pale hair, a moon among the night of her dark skirts, so he began scooting towards the next panel. “This one, shows a lot of drooping trees and flowers, and fruit with flies around it.”

“Famine,” she whispered.

“Most likely,” Thancred replied, and looked over to the next panel, which was on the adjoining wall. “The next is a smaller owl-headed figure, laying on the triskelion, though their eyes are black. In the other panels, the owl’s got yellow eyes.”

“Hmm…” She tapped her foot. “Anything else?”

“Um…” He hopped down, and walked along the panels. “We have the black-eyed owl next to a yellow-eyed owl. The yellow is holding the triskelion over the others head. After that it shows lots of panels of people dancing, fat animals, and flourishing plants.”

“Hmm…” Y’shtola began to pace in a circle. “Sounds like a ritual of some type. Sacrificing a member of the royal house - The Ronkan Emperors took the Owl as their crest - to contain something. That would explain why they kept the throne as long as they did without rebellion. If they were forced to do something no others would willingly face.”

Thancred stepped closer to her, and he noticed the way her pacing shifted, so that she was circling him rather than a random spot on the floor. “This… whatever it is, possibly an Ascian,” he said, looking back at the flowing black panel, “Brought famine to Ronka when the yellow-eyed owl did something with the white orb thing.” He reached out to touch her arm, but she somehow just breezed past him, without seeming to change her pace.

“This bears further investigation, but first, we must find water.” Y’shtola said, and turned on her heel, heading out of the room. 

Thancred frowned. “At least let me walk with you,” he complained, lengthening his stride.

“You’re welcome to walk with me,” she replied, “provided you can keep up.”

* * *

It felt like an eternity later, when Y’shtola’s ears suddenly flicked. “Do you hear that?”

Thancred shook himself, and realized in the silence he’d been staring at her hard enough to burn a hole through the back of her head. “S-Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you heard that?” Her head was tilted up, turned towards one side.

He paused, and listened as well, then his head snapped up. “Trickling.” Without thinking, he put a hand on her shoulder. “Can you see the aether?”

She seemed to still for a moment, but did not object to his touch, so he considered it a win, and began calculating other ‘accidental’ touches he might be able to get in, when suddenly she lifted her hand to his, and said, “This way.”

Y’shtola dragged him by his hand through myriad tunnels, seeming to follow a route only she knew. But the smell of dust gave way to petrichor, the stone seemed more eroded, and the air became cooler, and the whole time all he could think about was how soft her hands were, how firm her grip, how pale her skin. Thus, he was surprised when she tugged him into another large room, the ceiling of which was rent open.

Pale moonlight poured in through the gap, casting an eerie, blue-white illumination on the entire room. Long-cold fire pits circled a great stone circle, recessed into the floor, with that same triskelion pattern in the center. Above it, on one wall, was a large stone owl-head, with a thin trickle of water drooling out of its mouth into the pool. 

Thancred put his hand beneath it, letting the water run over his fingers, then shook his head. “It’s _slimy_.” He grimaced.

Y’shtola nodded. “There’s a blockage deeper within the stone. I should be able to pull it out if I call to the water aether further back.”

“All right. Is there anything you need me to do?” He asked, watching him.

Her brow furrowed as she stared into the owl’s face, as if she would bore a hole into it. “Give me one of your bullets,” she said quietly.

Thancred looked between the Miqo’te and the trickling fountain. “What?”

“I wasn’t aware I had a stutter, Thancred,” Her voice was sharp. “Give. Me. One. Of. Your. Bullets.”

He rolled his eyes, but did so, pressing the cylinder into her palm, and he watched as she let it float between her delicate hands, her hair fluttering in an unseen breeze as she imbued it with aether. “Be ready,” She said, handing the bullet back. “The blockage is alive. We may have to fight.”

“And you think one bullet will be sufficient?” Thancred asked incredulously, looking down at it.

He could see the edges of Y’shtola’s smirk on her face as she turned her attention back to the fountain. “If you don’t miss your strike,” she said. “You only get one chance at most things in life. Why would this be any different?” Then she raised her staff in the air, and the aetheric wind tore around her in a fury.

“Tch.” Thancred drew his gunblade, and slotted in the bullet, snapping the cylinder back into the frame, as a loud roaring soon overtook all other sounds. The wall behind the owl head shook slightly, and something dark and writhing shot out of it towards Y’shtola. 

This, at least, was second nature. Thancred let instinct take over, and slid between the Miqo’te and the _thing_, bringing his gunblade around and striking it with all his might, pulling the trigger. For a moment, the room flashed white as the crack of the gunshot drowned out everything, even the roar of the water, leaving his ears ringing.

When the ringing stopped, Thancred looked up to see the recessed bit of the floor quickly filling with clear water. He turned to Y’shtola, “You all right?”

“Of course,” she replied, her voice tight. “Thank you. Let me get the fire pits.”

“Leave them,” he whispered, staring down at her. The moonlight had caught her hair, and it seemed almost like a dream, each silver-white strand a streak of starlight against the dark. Without warning or thought, he bent his head, capturing her lips with his own.

Kissing Y’shtola felt right - it felt like the first thing he had done right in _years_. Her lips were like sweetness and cinnamon and he could not help himself, she was kissing him back, she was responding, she was - 

He let his gunblade clatter to the floor, hoping to put his arms around her, but the sound of it brought her back to herself. He could feel her freeze beneath his lips and then she was gone, and he was cold again. 

Her hand, cracking across his cheek with a sharp slap, was not unexpected. “I deserved that.”

“Damned right you did,” she hissed. Y’shtola’s ears were flattened against her head. “I told you we would discuss it in the Crystarium.”

“I am not attempting to discuss it,” Thancred replied, giving her a roguish grin. “I am _doing_ something about it.”

“Well, don’t,” she was frowning, but her cheeks were flushed, and it was only her mouth that seemed angry. She took a few steps further away from him and sighed. “Fire pits.” 

While Y’shtola went about the room, lighting each of the pits in turn with a simple fire spell, Thancred refilled their various canteens, watching her move. 

He had never taken the time before to evaluate her as anything more than a short-term conquest, for which the Miqo’te was most wholly unsuited. They worked together, and shared many friends. If he had tried anything, she would have made him miserable. If he had succeeded, everyone would have disapproved - his rather free ways with women were not the norm amongst the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, and Y’shtola being forced to work with him afterward would have been a nightmare. 

But now, in the moon- and firelight, he evaluated as something more long term. Everything that had made her unsuitable - their work together, their shared friends, the attitudes of the other Scions - suddenly supported this different type of relationship. 

If he and Y’shtola were to be lovers, devoted to one another, it would fit seamlessly amongst their current relationships. Meeting Urianger and the Champion for dinner, roasting the twins, helping Ryne with her work in the Empty, going on adventures like this whenever they pleased. And returning to the Source would be much the same. Tataru would be delighted. Krile would make some joke about him finally settling down.

He pulled his flask from his jacket and took a sip, smiling to himself. _I’m going to do it. I’m going to win Y’shtola back from whatever precipice she’s backed herself onto. I’m going to woo her, win her, love her._ He sat down by the edge of the pool and grinned. _I’m Thancred Waters, after all. The ladies love me._

* * *

**Y’shtola**

As she finished lighting the fire pits, Y’shtola glanced at Thancred, then away. The idiot had kissed her. For a moment, she had forgotten herself. She had forgotten what she’d done. She had indulged in his kiss, let herself pretend that she wasn’t the real transgressor here. _He’s going to try again,_ she realized, and shook her head. _He’s going to try to find a chink in my armor, and seduce me._

“I won’t let him,” Y’shtola whispered to herself, staring into the fire. “You have to be strong, Shtola.” And she would be. She had to be. She must.


	7. We Need to Talk about It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thancred manages to get Y'shtola to talk to him a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These characters just do what they want at this point. I'm just typing. >.<

**Thancred**

Pulling a few pieces of fruit left over from that morning from his bag, he offered one to Y’shtola while she lounged on the side of the pool, her tail flicking irritably. She took it, warily, and ate, staring pointedly at one of the nearby fire pits.

_Come on, Thancred,_ he told himself. _You’ve got this._ His brain raced through every pick up line he knew, desperate for some way to break the silence and the tension in the air. He finally plucked one, at random, from his mind. “So… Shtola, are you a coffin? Because I can see myself buried inside you.” 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted it, but to his surprise, she laughed, her hand coming up to her face and hovering before her mouth, the bridge of her nose wrinkling adorably. 

“Twelve, that was bad,” he admitted, and it only made her laugh harder. “Let me try again.” He ran a hand through his hair. “When we get back to the Source, I know a great restaurant in Limsa Lominsa. Let me take you.”

“Why?” she asked, but she was still laughing. “So you can make a damned fool of yourself in front of a crowd?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Been there, done that. Did you forget that I came out of the Lifestream skyclad? Had to hunt beasts for untanned furs and then terrorized the Vath for clothing?”

Y’shtola snorted. “You’ve never been bothered by your own nudity.”

“Name once!” He cried, in mock outrage. “When have I ever been nude in public and seemed unbothered by it?”

“Last night,” she offered, then took a bite of the fruit.

“It was just the two of us, that hardly counts as public, _and_ you’re blind, so it’s not like you could tell the difference.” He huffed playfully, leaning back against the edge of the pool. 

Y’shtola smirked. “The funny thing about water aether, Thancred…” He raised an eyebrow that she couldn’t see, and watched as she dipped her hand into the water, and then pulled it out, wet and dripping - her eyes focused on it. “...is that it clings to everything it touches until it is dried away.”

Thancred tilted his head in confusion. “What does that -” then realization dawned on him, and he laughed so hard his sides hurt. “The rain! Twelve, the _rain_.” He paused. “Well, I take it you liked what you saw, given the dreams you had.”

The smirk fell from her lips, instantly. “What?”

Thancred shook his head. “Sorry, you don’t want to talk about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y’shtola’s voice grew sharp.

“Nothing! You just said you didn’t want to talk about it,” he shrugged, “so I am doing as you asked.” When he glanced over, her face was red. “I’m sorry, Shtola. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“What did you mean, ‘given the dreams I had’?” She was staring at him, and her unseeing eyes were filling with tears.

“Shtola, we don’t have to talk about it.” Thancred reached across to brush away a tear that had escaped, trekking down her cheek, but she smacked his hand away, and he sighed. “You called for me, in your sleep last night.” He looked away, staring into the pool. “Repeatedly.”

“Maybe it was a nightmare.” She looked away from him, her face dark.

“Maybe.” He bit his lip. She said she didn’t want to talk about it.

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension returned, but this time, she broke it. “It wasn’t a nightmare, was it?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Definitely not.”

She grumbled and turned away from him. “You should get some sleep.”

“Can’t,” he said, shrugging.

“Why not?”

“I keep thinking about that kiss.” Thancred smirked to himself, seeing the way she suddenly curled up. “I can’t help it.”

Y’shtola sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. “I told you, I’m not one of your conquests.”

“I don’t want you to be.” He sighed and pulled out his flask, spinning off the top with a practiced flick of his finger. “I…” Scowling, he took a swig. “I value you too much as a friend to consider anything other than something long term.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Her voice was sharp enough to cut.

Thancred took another sip, then held the flask out to her. “I’m not.” She took the flask and clutched it in her hands while he spoke. “If you and I were to just have a go and be done with it, it would cause nothing but chaos amongst our friends, and between us. Urianger would think less of me than he already does. His wife’s bad enough normally, but now that she’s pregnant, well… I don’t want to cross her temper. Alphinaud would do that thing where he presses his lips together and looks like you killed his dog -” Y’shtola laughed, familiar with that expression. “- and Alisaie would take it as a personal insult. G’raha Tia would just smile and give us that long suffering, understanding sigh of his. And Ryne…” Thancred shook his head. “Ryne wouldn’t understand. For all that she’s making her own way, she’s still young. She still believes in fairy tales, in love at first sight, all that nonsense.”

Y’shtola took a drink from the flask, finally. “I’m sure Urianger and our Champion’s dramatics last year didn’t help that at all.”

“_Twelve,_” he snorted. “She wouldn’t stop talking about how terribly romantic it all was.”

“What do you think...” she began, and the tone in her voice pulled him up short - this was an important question. “What do you think of the _binding_?”

“I don’t know,” he laughed. “I don’t have much experience with it. They’re the only ones I’ve ever even heard of who’ve done it. I’ve got too many questions to give a true answer yet. It just seems… a strange choice.”

“Why?” Y’shtola had moved closer to him, he realized.

Thancred ran a hand through his hair. “I mean… from what I understand, at least, it’s forever. Like, _Forever_ forever. Nothing but you and this other person, all the way down. What if you get sick of each other?”

“Unbound couples run the same risk.” She said quietly.

“Yes, but that’s only one lifetime. After you’re reborn, it’s like ‘Oh, it’s you again’.” He chuckled, but raised an eyebrow when Y’shtola shook her head.

“No… you don’t remember, from lifetime to lifetime.” Y’shtola leaned her head on his shoulder. “Not unless you do something to make yourself remember.”

“Then how do you find each other again? What if you meet up and the other person’s already with someone else?”

“It’s part of why the _Binding_ is considered a Great Working.” The way she said those words gave them weight. “It ensures that no matter what happens, you will find each other, and be in a position to be together. It doesn’t make you love each other, it doesn’t force your hand.”

“What if Urianger finds her in their next life, and he loves her, but she wants nothing to do with him?”

“Then he suffers. He’s an extremely gifted Aetherologist, and has the gift of seeing aether when he wishes to. Gifts like that follow the soul, not the body, so he’d have it in his next life. He would know they were _bound_.”

“Does that matter?” Thancred frowned.

“Yes. Knowing you are _bound_ to someone makes you consider them in a different light. For one, if they die, you die, so you have a vested interest in their continued survival.” Y’shtola laughed cynically. “Even if they don’t reciprocate your feelings, you’re still stuck. In that situation, he’d have three options: force her to leave her spouse, which is what Emet-Selch did to her in the past; live a life apart and suffer knowing that your literal soulmate isn’t with you; or commit suicide, killing you both, and try again.” She sighed. “There’s a reason it is forbidden.”

Thancred nodded. “Will they get in some kind of trouble if we ever get back to the Source?”

“Ha!” Y’shtola’s bark of laughter spooked him. “Are you going to be the one to tell her no? Are you going to say to the Warrior of Light, ‘You and your husband did something _illegal_?’” She shook her head. “No one will say a damn thing.”

Thancred visibly relaxed. “That’s good. I’d hate to have to break Urianger out of prison.” He glanced at her, out of the corner of his eye. “You know a lot about the _binding_. Do you know any others who are _bound_?”

She froze, but said, “One couple. But they are a special case.”

“How so?”

Y’shtola sighed. “She _bound_ him against his will.”

“Twelve,” Thancred said. “Did she even _try_ to justify it? How did she get caught?”

She fidgeted uncomfortably. “Urianger saw it, and asked her about it privately. She explained the situation, that she had done it to save the man to whom she was _bound_ from death. She was friends with the woman he actually loved, and she did not want her friend to hurt, so she made a snap decision, and did it.”

Thancred gave a low whistle. “Well, hard to blame her in that instance. A snap decision to save someone’s life, so they could stick around to love someone else? What happened?”

Y’shtola closed her eyes. “Urianger decided that being _bound_ like that was punishment enough.” She stood, and started walking away. 

“Wait, Shtola.” He reached out and grabbed her hand. She turned back, but didn’t look at him. “Thank you for talking to me. We can talk about something else, if you like?”

“Like what?” She whispered, staring at the ground.

“Anything,” he said, and surprised himself. “I… I don’t want you to walk away from me. I don’t want you to go.”

“You’re deluded, Thancred.” She laughed, that same cynical laugh as before. “You only want me because I’m the only woman here, despite your many and myriad reasons that it would be a bad idea.”

“No, I said something short term would be a bad idea.” He tugged her hand, and she stumbled into his lap. “Can’t we at least try for something more than that?”

“I thought we weren’t talking about this.” Y’shtola grumbled, standing and straightening her clothes.

“You’re the one who pushed the issue!” Thancred stood as well, levering himself up with his gunblade and glaring.

“You’re the one who keeps making passes at me!” She stomped her foot indignantly.

“You’re the one who can’t seem to have a normal conversation about this!” He gripped her shoulders.

“You’re the one who’s being too nice to me!”

_”You’re the one who won’t even look at me! Why not?”_ He shook her, gently. “Shtola, I know I’ve hurt you, and I’m -”

“No.” She hissed. “Don’t you dare apologize.” She pulled out of his grasp again. “You’re supposed to hate me.”

“Why?”

Y’shtola turned from him. “I’m going to sleep.”

He looked up at the opened ceiling, towards the sky. The moon shone down on him, unflinching. “We need to talk about it.”

She sighed, wearily. “Why?”

“Because I can’t keep pining for you. I want you. I’m reasonably sure you want me. It’d be one thing if we tried and it didn’t work out. It’s something else if you aren’t willing to try in the first place.” Thancred returned his eyes to her, to the back of her head. “I just want to know why. I think, if you want us to still be friends, to still work together, if you want nothing to change, I at least deserve to know why this is a door you won’t walk through.”

Y’shtola bent, and picked up her satchel, pulling the strap over her shoulder and letting it settle on her hip. “I need some space to think.” She walked back to the entrance of the room, and stopped in the doorway. “I…”

He came to her side. “Shtola.”

To his surprise, she turned to him, her arms sliding around his neck, pulling him down to her. When she kissed him, he reflexively put his arms around her, pulling her against his chest and giving himself over to it. All the turmoil in him stilled, and he was content to have her in his arms, and cinnamon on his lips.

When they broke apart, she buried her face in his chest again. “Can you forgive me for being selfish?”

“Shtola,” Thancred laughed, and held her close. “I’d forgive you anything.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she whispered. “At the end.”

“Good,” he replied, and kissed her again.


	8. Selfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'shtola goes for a walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out! It's the end of the quarter so I've been very busy at work all week. Should have a few chapters for my various fics this weekend.

**Y’shtola**

_You can’t do this._

_I’m doing it right now._

_You don’t deserve this._

_If I’m damned anyway, I might as well enjoy it._

_He’s only allowing you to kiss him because he doesn’t know what you’ve done._

_He said he understood. He said it was forgivable._

_He only said that because he didn’t realize you were speaking of _him.

Y’shtola pulled herself out of Thancred’s arms. Her face felt hot, and she could taste him on her tongue, whiskey and chocolate, but she closed her eyes to avoid looking at him.

“Shtola,” he whispered again, and she felt his fingers brush through her hair tentatively. “It’s all right, Shtola. No one else is here. You can talk to me about whatever it is.”

“I need to go,” she turned away from him, towards the entryway.

“Please,” he said, and the anxiety in his voice tore at her heart. “We have to - “ Thancred sighed. “Nevermind. I won’t keep you here against your will. But I’m exhausted, and need to sleep, so I would like to ask that if you do go, you don’t go so far that you calling for help won’t wake me.”

Keeping her eyes shut, she nodded. “I will,” she said, then headed into the hall.

* * *

Y’shtola kept moving until she was sure her footsteps could no longer be heard, then buried her face in her hands a moment. She had come close, _too_ close, to telling Thancred what had happened. She wanted to tell him, desperately, but now, after Minfilia? She couldn’t. 

The Miqo’te had planned on waiting until he was happily married to Minfilia, until she had proof that he did not want her, until she had turned her heart to stone and ice and any anger he might have felt towards her could be mitigated by her own indifference. Then Minfilia had left for the First, and then she had given up her self to be absorbed by their ‘daughter’, for lack of a better way to put it. She had decided not to tell him. She could not falter, no matter how good he was at getting past her guard. Her affection was just the _binding_, after all. It was just the _binding._

With a sharp inhale of breath, Y’shtola raised her head and lowered her hands. She would endure this, as everything else. Still, it was a trial, moving forward when every ilm of her wanted to run back into his arms and lose her misery in his ardor. Just when she thought she couldn’t take another step, she heard a familiar voice.

“Shtola?” The Champion’s high, bright voice, echoed slightly off the walls.

“Sister,” Y’shtola said, turning to face her, and froze. Before her stood the Warrior of Light, but… as she _remembered_ her. As she looked on the night of the bloody banquet. She could make out every detail of her hair, her face, her eyes. And that was a problem. The Miqo’te took a step back, and reached for her staff. “What are you?”

“I’m your - Oh.” The voice said flatly. “You will be a problem, then.” The Champion’s form seemed to unfold before her, into some massive shape of shadow aether, and Y’shtola ran.

* * *

Thancred sat on the floor, leaning his head back against the stone wall and stared up at the moon, drinking from his flask at regular intervals, despite deciding he had not brought along enough whiskey for this trip after Y’shtola had left. He wanted to run after her, to drag her back, sit her down, and _make_ her talk, but he knew if it came down to that she could lay him low with magic before he ever put a hand on her, and he felt it might do more harm than good to the fragile trust that existed between them regardless.

“Thancred!” 

He laughed and put the lid on his flask, tucking it into his pocket. If his mind was playing tricks on him, letting him think he heard her calling out to him - 

“_Thancred!_” The second call, louder and more urgent than the first, snapped through his maudlin thoughts and he sprang to his feet, grabbing his gunblade in one hand and rushing out into the hallway.

“Shtola?” He yelled, looking both ways, but beyond the light cast by the moon and the dying embers of the fire pits, the entire hall was plunged into darkness.

He suddenly heard footsteps approaching from his left, the sharp, even staccato he recognized well. “Shtola -” He reached a hand out into the inky black, and felt her hand slip into his, and he jerked her back into the small pool of light that remained, pulling her behind him as he lifted his weapon. “What happened?”

“There’s something in the darkness,” she said, and he felt her fingers patting him down, digging in his pockets. “Where do you keep your damnable bullets!?”

“Left side, hip, outside the jacket.” He didn’t look away from the shadows, making sure to keep himself between Y’shtola and whatever she had been running from. He could hear scraping on the stone, in the distance, and feel the Miqo’te’s fingers brush his hip while she worked with the bandolier. 

“There, You’ve got bullets.” Her declaration moved him from the offensive to the defensive, and he reloaded, then threw himself into the darkness. 

A few tentative swipes with his gunblade encountered nothing but air, and he heard a heartbreakingly familiar girlish voice. “Thancred, where are we?”

“Ryne,” he whispered, and the young girl walked out of the shadows toward him, her face pensive. 

“It’s dark, Thancred. I don’t like it.” She took a few steps closer to him, but he froze. He remembered Y’shtola’s words.

_There’s something in the darkness._

“Shtola?” He asked, turning his head slightly to pitch his voice back, but keeping his eyes on the girl before him.

“It’s not her, Thancred.” Y’shtola’s voice was even, and he could hear her steps approaching him from behind.

“How can you be sure?”

“It’s an aetherial construct. I can _see_ her, just like I could see Amaurot.” Soft fingers with sharp nails slipped into his hand, and he felt Shtola’s skirts brush against his leg.

The Ryne-Construct hissed, and was enveloped in the darkness again.

“What do we do?” He asked, blankly.

“I’m going to try something,” Y’shtola’s voice was hard - like it had been the night of the banquet. “Close your eyes.”

He didn’t, and was rewarded for his mistrust by searing pain as Light aether blossomed from her hands, banishing the impenetrable shadow with the harsh light of a merciless sun. It’s brightness seemed to leech color from everything, plunging everything into abstracts of light and shadow. A dark, swirling cloud raced back along the hallway away from them, a discordant shriek echoing from it as it retreated from their sight. 

The Light in Y’shtola’s hands dimmed and vanished, and she shook out her hands. “So, it hates Light Aether. That’s a start.” She turned and reached for her staff where it leaned against the wall, but Thancred caught her hand and turned her to face him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and brushed her hair out of her face with his free hand.

She chuckled, her canines scraping her lower lip. “That’s a dangerous question. For now, I’m fine. Just rattled. It appeared as the Champion to me, the way she used to look. The night of the banquet.” He watched as she slumped a little bit. “I realized I don’t know how she looks now. How any of the rest of them do, save you.”

* * *

“If anything, Alphinaud and Alisaie are finally getting taller.” Thancred said, leaning against the stone wall by a reignited fire pit. Y’shtola lounged beside him, sharing little strips of jerky from her satchel. “I give it a year or two until Alphinaud is of a height with me, though Alisaie seems to have been slowing down. She’s definitely the more mature of the two of them.”

Shtola laughed. “She always was.”

Thancred chuckled. “That’s true. She seems to have taken in her suffering, stuffed it down as far as she can. I know you’re aware that she carried a torch for both Urianger and his wife. Their relationship has made her _sharp_. You can see it in the way she moves, the glances she gives us. The only person she’s relaxed around anymore is the Exarch.”

“G’raha Tia?” She tilted her head. “But why him?”

“I don’t know, exactly, but they seem to go through a lot of wine together.” He tried to keep his suspicions out of his voice, but the damnable woman caught them all the same.

“She is barely of age, and he’s centuries old.” Y’shtola grumbled. “But even so, she is _of age_, for all that I would complain.”

“I don’t think she would take advice or criticism from anyone but Alphinaud, and the boy’s only too sensitive to his sister’s emotional state. I don’t think he’ll intervene unless she’s actually in danger or unhappy, regardless of what we say.” Thancred leaned his head back against the stone. “He’s started go get stubble.”

“What?” Y’shtola gasped, “But he’s _sixteen_! Elezen don’t get stubble until they’re -”

“Nearing twenty,” Thancred finished for her, “And the twins celebrated their nineteenth nameday eight months ago.” He sighed. “Alphinaud’s gotten harder, too. I think the mutiny of the Crystal Braves, followed immediately by that Ishgardian War, did a number on him, emotionally. Even though he was not involved overmuch in the Doman or Ala Mhigan revolutions, he still… he seems like he’s more focused than he was before. You can see it in how he stands. More like a man than boy, now.”

She giggled. “Tell me about Urianger and the Champion.”

“All right,” Thancred put an arm around Y’shtola. “Urianger is _Urianger_. A few more bags under his eyes. He put on quite a bit of muscle while living in Il Mheg, waiting for his ‘beloved’ to come to the First.” He chuckled. “He is much more confident now, if anything. The _Binding_ did him a world of good, in my opinion. He has at least one person to share his secrets with, so he isn’t so burdened by his past or his anxious fears.

“However, she has…” He swallowed. “His wife has become harder, like Alisaie. I don’t know what happened at Amaurot, exactly but…” 

“... I do. She told me,” Y’shtola finished. “She told me more than I believe she’s told Urianger, and I’m not surprised she looks harder after hearing it.” Leaning her head on his shoulder, she said, “It was enough to almost make me think being loved could be worse than having your love unrequited.”

What he wanted to say was: _Your love isn’t unrequited._ What he actually said was: “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “She was _bound_ to an Ascian. She loved Urianger, but she could not help but love Emet-Selch as well. I remember what she said, ‘In him I saw my own dark reflection, all the power I could have if I let go of my morality. Take what I want and damn the consequences.’” A bitter look passed over her face, but she said nothing more.

“While I am glad she didn’t give in to that temptation…” Thancred said slowly, trying not to startle Y’shtola, “Sometimes there is merit to doing something selfish.”

She snorted, but did not pull away. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that one cannot live solely for others. You have to live for yourself as well. Sometimes, you have to choose to set yourself above others, or you’ll go mad.” He inhaled a sharp breath. “You deserve as much happiness as you can snatch from this world, Y’shtola.”

“Is that why you’re throwing yourself upon the sword?” Her voice was becoming more acerbic. “Urianger and the Champion, Alphinaud and Ryne, and according to you, the Exarch and Alisaie? _Someone_ has to manage me, so it might as well be you?” She scowled. “I don’t want your pity.”

“I don’t pity you, Shtola. I desire you.” He laughed ruefully. “A lot of things made sense when I realized you wanted me. And a lot of things made sense when I realized all my anger and frustration at you is because I want to be _something_ to you, beyond a friend.”

She shook her head. “I’m too tired for this conversation.”

Thancred leaned close, and whispered to her, “We don’t have to _talk_, Shtola. I can express how I feel about you in other ways.” He dipped his head and pressed his lips to her neck, his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

She slapped him, again, hard enough to make his ears ring, but when he glanced back at her, she whispered, “Kiss me again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's gonna be smut. You're all overdue.


	9. Just This Once [EX]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT SMUT SMUT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT SMUT SMUT

_Cinnamon,_ Thancred decided, as he tasted Y’shtola’s lips, _is definitely my favorite flavor._ It was hard to hold back, hard to go slowly. Now that he had realized her feelings for him, and his for her, he wanted to have it all, have everything all at once. But Y’shtola was skittish about this relationship, so he _had_ to go slowly - and it was killing him.

His jacket lay on the stone beneath her, offering what little comfort it could, and he had her head cradled in one of his hands. Her arms were around his neck, one hand twisting in the hair on the back of his head, the other’s nails digging into his shoulder. When she leaned her head back to breathe, he kissed his way along her jaw and chuckled. “I want to get used to this,” he whispered.

She said nothing, but he felt her press herself up against him when he kissed her collarbone. “Tell me what you want, Shtola. Anything you ask.” Thancred delighted in the way she shivered beneath his lips.

“I don’t know what I want,” she replied, and trembled again. “I’m still not completely convinced this is a good idea.”

He pressed a kiss into her cheek. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” She turned so that his next kiss landed on her lips, a simple enough answer. “I’ve resolved that I’m going to add at least one more monumentally self-destructive decision to the pile of others I’ve made tonight. I just haven’t figured out what that decision will be.”

“Letting me love you isn’t self-destructive, Shtola,” he chided, gently, and dragged his hand to her hip, squeezing it appreciatively through the rough fabric of her dress. “If anything, you’re long overdue for some fun.” He let his hand move further, and dip beneath the layers of her skirts to her thigh beneath.

She purred, deep in her throat. “You are much too good at this, Thancred.”

“Every man has talents,” he countered, but laughed. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it, Shtola.”

“It’s not like I haven’t fantasized about this.” Y’shtola’s smile was sharp. 

“_Fantasized_?” he repeated, sliding his hand up to her hip. “Well, right now I’m fantasizing about getting this dress off of you. Would that be all right?”

“Just this once,” Y’shtola sat up and let him go, reaching for the lacings on her back. “But if it happens again, I won’t forgive you.”

“Liar,” he teased, starting on the laces of her boots. “What is it with you and that woman and these damn laces?”

“What do you mean?” Shtola asked, unclasping the jewel at the front of her breasts.

“Oh, Urianger mentioned his wife is always wearing things with lots of laces as well.” 

The Miqo’te laughed. “It keeps importuning, needy perverts away.”

“I don’t know if that’s true. She married one, and you’re taking off your dress right now.” Thancred laughed as she tugged the dress off over her head and threw it at him. “You have surprisingly good aim for a blind woman.”

“You make surprisingly sarcastic comments for a man who wants to have me.” Still, she was smiling, and that brought more relief than anything else.

“I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t sarcastic,” he replied, leaving the second boot beside the first a few feet away. 

Thancred paused as he looked her over. She was so pale, her skin, her hair, her eyes, but her laughter and slight blush brought so much color. “You really are beautiful,” he whispered.

“So I’ve heard,” she said. 

Thancred quickly pulled off his own clothes and stretched himself out beside her. “What oracle has been telling you such universal truths?” he asked, reaching for her again.

“Runar,” she replied flippantly, rolling onto her side toward him.

Thancred winced. “I had been meaning to ask about that. I was under the impression you two were…”

“_Were_, being the operative part of that sentence,” Y’shtola replied. “We tried, it didn’t work out.” The bite in her voice gave Thancred pause.

“Can I ask why?” he asked and rubbed her shoulder gently.

Y’shtola sighed. “He could tell my heart wasn’t in it. In the end, I was just closing my eyes and pretending he was you.” 

“For what it’s worth,” Thancred said, and slid his hand over her shoulder and down her back to her waist, pulling her close. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize what I wanted.” He kissed her again, squeezing her close. “Let me make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to me, Thancred. If anything, I should be apologizing for letting my guard down.” She was looking away again, and he hated it.

“Shtola,” he whispered. “Don’t apologize. I want this. I want _you_.” 

Her head turned back toward him, and she opened her eyes. “Are you sure?”

Thancred laughed. “Yes, Shtola. So very sure.” And that was the last thing either of them said for a long time.

His lips caught hers as he settled between her legs, his hands exploring her curves the way he’d imagined at the bottom of every bottle for the last few years on the First. Her gasps were the sweetest song he’d ever heard, the only one he couldn’t sing, and when he thrust into her the first time, the only regret he had was that it had taken him so long to see _her_.

Y’shtola’s nails scraped at his back, and she made those sweet mewling sounds for him, just like she had an eternity ago last night - that night might as well be a different lifetime with the yawning abyss of this one day between then and now, but he knew, no matter what happened after this, it was a day he would never forget - the day he fell in love with Y’shtola Rhul. He could only pray to the Twelve that he deserved her.

Soon, her breathing was coming faster and faster, and he laughed in delight when she tensed around him, clinging to him like the only thing that tethered her to the ground. When she went languid beneath him, he slid his hands down and grabbed her beneath her knees, lifting her legs and pushing them back up toward her chest so he could hilt himself in her, as deep as he could go. She lay back and let him, still mewling, still moaning, and it didn’t take long, just a few more moments of his hips flat against her thighs, and he groaned, dropping his head to her chest as he shuddered with an orgasm he hadn’t known he’d needed.

Thancred let her legs go, and they slid back down, rubbing against his thighs, keeping contact even though they were both spent. She leaned up to kiss him, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, and lying together in silence, the only sound the rushing water falling into the pool nearby.

* * *

**Y’shtola**

Thancred had fallen asleep beside her not long after they’d made love, and she silently sat up, picking his hand up off her stomach and leaving it on the empty space she had occupied on his jacket.

With careful, quiet steps, she found her clothes, and pulled them on, each movement practiced and precise to be sure she was unheard, from the way she tightened the laces on her boots slowly, one at a time, to the way she bit her lip so hard it bled, to keep the sobs locked behind her teeth. 

She knew what he wanted. She knew what he was asking for. He wanted to pursue something serious. He wanted forever with her. He didn’t know that he already had it, but she couldn’t let herself enjoy it. Not with everything else that had happened, not with her deception between them. 

So in careful silence, she picked up her things, made sure her canteen was full, and with one last look at the future she didn’t deserve, slipped out into the dark hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not crying, you're crying.


	10. I Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thancred searches for Y'shtola.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing about writing adult romantic relationships is that they spend 99% of their time talking.

**Thancred**

Sunlight streamed in from the rent ceiling, the sound of birdsong pulling Thancred gently from the deepest sleep he’d had in a long time. He took a moment to savor this feeling - so perfect and wonderful, the smell of cinnamon clinging to his skin, the memory of the night before seared into his mind. He reached for her, but found nothing.

His eyes snapped open. Y’shtola wasn’t lying on the jacket with him. He sat up, looking about the room. She was gone, her _things_ were gone, and he saw his bandolier - every last bullet had been imbued. She had left, and had no intention of coming back.

Y’shtola had run.

“Fuck,” he breathed, angrily. Part of him wanted to dissect all the ways this could be his fault, but Thancred pushed it from his mind. This place was dangerous, as he’d learned last night, and Y’shtola had run out into that danger alone. He was not going to leave her to that. She could run from him once they were back amongst the Viis. He’d gladly leave then, and let her do as she wished. But not here.

Thancred pulled on his clothes, his boots, his jacket, his weapon. He made sure all his things were secure, then headed out into the hallway. Y’shtola had a head start - he didn’t know how much - and she had a distinct advantage in being able to see and manipulate aether. But he had actual sight, and there were things she missed because of it. Like the torches.

He grabbed a torch out of the wall sconce nearby, and went back into the room, lighting it from the embers in the fire pit. 

“I’m going to find you, Shtola,” He whispered to the empty room. “I promise.”

* * *

**Y’shtola**

“I should go back,” Y’shtola murmured, running her hands along the wall. “Twelve, I should…” She stopped, and placed a hand to her chest. 

She had thought, idiotically, that if she indulged herself once, it would kill any desire she had for him. She would have seen what a terribly selfish lover he was, and have no urge to repeat the experience. 

But that hadn’t been the case at all. Thancred had been so good to her. They had laughed together. He had held her close and she knew him well enough to know everything he promised her as he drifted to sleep he meant. He wanted a future with her. He wanted to love her. But some force seemed to pull her away from him, even now. Some darkness had entered her heart, and her feet moved forward of their own accord, deeper into the labyrinthine tunnels.

* * *

**Thancred**

Thancred dragged his pocket knife across the corner, where the wall turned left, until it scraped through centuries of dirt and moss to the bare stone, leaving a visible sign that caught the torchlight. He was not going to get lost in here. He was going to find Y’shtola, and find a way out. He knew she wanted to explore, but he couldn’t go with her if she was going to be like this. She needed to trust whomever she was with, and he’d rather hand Alphinaud a fucking sword and send him than let Y’shtola wander the tunnels alone. Especially now that he knew _something_ lurked in the dark hallways.

“Hello, Thancred,” Y’shtola’s voice echoed down the hall to him, and he took a few steps forward, then froze.

“I have to make sure it’s you,” he said. “Come into the light.”

Her silhouette came and stopped at the edge of the light, but proceeded no further. “You know it’s not _really_ her.”

“Come to kill me, then?” Thancred held the torch aloft, and reached for his gunblade with his free hand.

“No. I’ve come to show you the way out.” The silhouette swayed softly, belying it’s ephemeral nature.

“Why?” He frowned.

“I have no use for you. You do not channel aether, and thus cannot be used for my purposes.”

“I’m not leaving without Y’shtola.” He advanced on the creature, forcing it to step back as his light inched toward it.

“Do you want to die?” The silhouette asked. “I have taken her down to the lowest level. She will serve me.”

“No, sorry.” He used the torch in his hand to light the next one along the wall, then drew his gunblade. “My name is on her dance card, and I will not let her go until we’ve had our spin across the floor.”

The shadow chuckled. “You did. Last night.”

“This dance between us is not over until she tells me so, to my face.” Thancred knew that for a truth. He had decided he was hers, and she could bend or break him as she liked - but he would not leave her side until she told him they were through.

“You would think taking all her things and leaving would make it obvious.” 

“No,” he shook his head, and placed a hand on his chest. “Call me old fashioned, but I can still feel her. So long as I know she’s out there, I will see her safe and unharmed. And she owes me an explanation for her actions, if nothing else.”

The silhouette paused again, as if in thought. “I suppose she does.” He couldn’t help feeling wary at the malevolent glee it seemed to take in that sentiment. Behind the silhouette, the torches lit themselves with strange purple flames. “This way.”

_Are we doing this?_ He asked himself as he watched the silhouette of the woman he loved drift down the hallway. _Are we following this creature of darkness down a shadow-lined hellhole?_

Thancred placed his torch, still lit with bright orange flames, down slowly. _For Shtola? Absolutely._

* * *

**Y’shtola**

Y’shtola’s breathing was heavy as she descended the stairs. She was exhausted, but for some reason, her feet would not stop moving. She placed a hand on the wall.

“Please…” She rasped. “Let me rest a moment.” To her surprise, her feet stopped moving, and she trembled slightly, then slid down the wall, taking a seat on the stairs, and pulling a small canteen from her satchel. She opened it with a quick twist and poured water down her throat.

“Rest, Shtola,” Thancred’s voice called from the darkness. “I’m here.”

“Liar,” she said, as Thancred, nude as he’d been in the rain, appeared to her in the darkness. The threads passed through him, further into the tunnels the way she’d come. “Why have you brought me here?”

“The real Thancred wishes to speak with you.”

She brought a hand to her forehead and shook her head. “I left for a reason. Let him go.”

“What is that reason?” The illusion approached her, and knelt, reaching out and brushing its thumb across her lower lip. “He deserves to know the truth.”

“Please,” Y’shtola turned her head away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Are you sure? You know that I can show you things.” Thancred’s face pressed close to hers. “I saw the way he looked at you last night, Mystel. I can give you that…” The illusion’s fingers stroked her cheek. “A world where you can see him, and pretend you aren’t as monstrous as I am.”

Y’shtola shook her head. “No. I will not.”

“Let go,” Thancred’s voice whispered in her ear. “Let go, and live in the dream. You will live a thousand years. I can use your secret, and he will live that long as well. Don’t you want to give that to him? A world where he need never die?”

“He wants to die, so he can be with Minfilia again.” She drew her knees up to her chest.

“No, I don’t,” Thancred’s voice again, but this time, it came from the top of the stairs - from the other end of those delicate threads.

* * *

**Thancred**

He sat beside Y’shtola on the bottom step, and stared ahead into the darkness. They said nothing, but he passed her his flask, and she took a sip in shaking hands, then handed it back.

A few minutes later, her hands stilled, and he smiled softly. “Are you ready to go?”

Y’shtola sighed. “If it will even let me leave. My feet were moving without my intention. I think it’s leading me somewhere.”

Thancred nodded. “Did you leave last night because it made you? Or because you wanted to?”

“I chose to leave.” He was glad she didn’t lie to him.

“Why?”

She was quiet for a while, then said, “I have done horrible things in pursuit of the greater good. I have justified some horrendous actions. I am no better than Emet-Selch.”

“I beg to differ. The Ascian wasn’t nearly as beautiful.” Thancred chuckled.

The corner of her lips tugged up into a smile. “Still.”

“We’ve all done things we regret, Shtola,” He put an arm around her. “Regrets are part of life.”

“Yes, but we have to live with them.” The Miqo’te laid her head on his shoulder. “And their consequences.”

“I don’t understand how that equates to a relationship between us being impossible.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I can’t explain it yet. I’m not emotionally strong enough.” Y’shtola groaned. “Even then, I’m not going to explain it until we get back to the Crystarium. Remember?”

He smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.” After a moment, he rubbed his thumb along her upper arm, holding her close. “If it’s an impossibility, why did you let me have you last night?”

“I was hoping you were a terrible lover, and I would stop wanting you.” She laughed.

“Was I?” His question was honest. “Did you?”

“No, to both questions.”

“I’m… sorry?” Thancred laughed. “I don’t know if I should apologize for being acceptable in that regard.”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “You were more than acceptable. And don’t apologize.” Her hands, more steady, took the flask back from him, and she took a second drink, then handed it back. “It’s better that I don’t hate you.”

“I admit, I prefer it that way too.” After a few minutes of silence, he felt it best to confess. “I loved Minfilia, but it would not have worked between us, not as anything real.” 

Y’shtola froze beneath his hand. “Why not?”

Thancred sighed. “I bore too much guilt for what I did to her, and before you get any ideas - that alone could have been overcome. But I am the man I am. I’m not... “ He gave Y’shtola a squeeze. “I am not like Minfilia, or Ryne, or the Warrior of Light, or Krile. There is a reason they have the Echo. They are beacons of pure light in this world - lanterns of good to guide the path of others toward a better future. But they must remain apart. Urianger’s marriage only works because he will give up all that he is to _her_ goals. He will subsume himself in supporting the Warrior of Light as she saves us all. I can’t do that.”

He took a sip from his flask, and smiled at the taste of cinnamon on its rim. “Maybe I’m too selfish, but I refuse to walk in anyone’s shadow - even Minfilia’s. I don’t want to give up my own identity for the greater good. I cannot be a trained dog to come when someone snaps their fingers.” He laughed. “And it would be beyond irritating to be with someone who _always_ had the moral high ground. I love this world, even in its sundered nature, and that imperfection means it won’t always work with the ones we love.”

Turning to face her, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “That’s why I don’t want to die on some off chance I might see her again. I love her, I always will, but her end gave me Ryne, and freed my heart for you. And as horrible as that makes me, I can’t regret it.” He bent his head and kissed her.

“You’re insufferable,” Y’shtola whispered as they pulled apart.

“Maybe,” he replied, “but you enjoy it.”

“Are you two quite done?” The creature spoke again, in a strange tone. “My patience wears thin.” 

“Let me come with you,” Thancred said.

Y’shtola stood, and took his hand in hers. “So long as you can keep up.”


	11. Beyond Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thancred and Y'shtola reach the end of the ruins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a transitional chapter that leads into the next section of the story, so it's a little shorter than I usually put out. I've spent over a month struggling with it so I decided to just let it go and get on to the next bit.

**Thancred**

The silence between them stretched on as they followed the creature deeper into the ruins. The soft violet illumination it supplied cast eerie shadows along the reliefs carved into the walls, making monsters out of the ancient heroes. 

Thancred’s mind kept turning over the events of the past few days, trying to solve the riddle before him: Y’shtola had done something that she felt was unforgivable, and precluded her from having a relationship with him - but not _others_, given her attempt with Runar. He looked for some clue in their interactions, but once again was reminded of his own inadequacies. He had never been the most intelligent of the Scions, choosing instead to focus on more practical skills, but now he wished he’d bothered with some of those riddles Urianger gave him occasionally. Maybe it would make sussing out what had happened more clear.

For her part, Y’shtola had remained silent, but she had not pulled away when he’d taken her hand, so he considered it a victory. It was still there, her fingers caught between his, and he found himself trying to carve the shape it took in his grip into his memory. He did not know how long he had until some other moment of self-doubt ripped her away from him again.

They stopped, finally, before a giant iron door. “This will take a few moments,” the creature murmured, and began to fiddle with the ancient lock. 

“Thancred…” Y’shtola began, but he silenced her with a kiss, savoring the spice of cinnamon for the few minutes he could have it. She went to pushed at his chest, but soon capitulated, and put her arms around his neck.

When he released her lips, she smiled. “This is where I leave you, I fear.”

“No, Shtola,” he said simply. “Whatever waits beyond that door, we face it together.”

“Do you even know what it is?” Y’shtola asked.

“Does it matter?” He tightened his arms around her waist. “Between the two of us, I think we can handle it.”

“I don’t want you to be hurt,” she whispered, but she still pressed herself closer, let her arms circle his neck.

“Then don’t push me away.” He kissed her again, just one soft brush against her lips. “I’d rather die by your side than live alone.”

The creature laughed, but said nothing.

Y’shtola sighed and slumped in his arms. “When we get back to the Crystarium.”

Thancred nodded. “You can expect an interrogation then. But for now…” he glanced at the creature’s back. “Got any bright ideas?”

“A few, but I need to confirm what we’re dealing with, first.” He was struck again by how natural it felt to hold her, as if they had been carved from the same piece of wood, intended to fit together from the beginning.

“Fair enough,” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Any educated guesses?”

“None that I’m willing to share before present company.” Y’shtola tilted her head toward the creature. “But I want to ask you something.”

He chuckled. “I’m all ears.”

“Do you trust me?” She asked.

“With my life, yes,” he replied. “But not with your own. You’re far too eager to throw it away.”

“Perhaps,” Y’shtola smiled enigmatically. “But… I think this one time, you should trust me. I see things you do not.”

“I could say the same,” Thancred pointed out, but then Y’shtola kissed him of her own accord, and he was lost in the taste of cinnamon and brandy and her body pressed against him. 

“Please, Thancred,” she said as they pulled apart, and he felt his heart turn within his chest. 

_Oh no,_ he thought, _It appears I can’t resist her begging._ Loving her was going to be a long, hard road if all it took was a please and a pout to get her way.

The creature made a strange noise, and the door squealed - metal grinding on stone - as the ancient stone passage opened. “Let us proceed.”

The lichen-lined passage led to a large room, with a pool of black, brackish water in the center. Above it floated a young girl, in tattered robes similar to those worn by the Viis of Fanow. Thancred glanced at Y’shtola, and her mouth set into a thin line. 

He went to take a few steps forward, but his companion caught his wrist. “Don’t bother,” she said. “The girl is long dead.”

“Dead indeed,” the creature’s voice hissed from the child-like mouth, “but no new vessel was sent to contain me. Until now.” It looked greedily towards the Miqo’te, long fingers reaching toward her even as the child’s limp arm lifted in awkward parody of the motion.

“Do you trust me, Thancred?” Y’shtola asked him again.

“Yes.” Still, he drew his gunblade and stepped in front of her. The feel of her hand gently pressed against the center of his back made him feel more confident than he really should have been.

“We can’t kill it on our own. We’ll need help,” Y’shtola murmured. “But, we can subdue it long enough to escape.”

“You cannot escape. There is nothing beyond here.” The child’s head lolled to one side unnaturally as its lips moved, and a spider crawled out of its open mouth and burrowed into an eye socket.

Thancred felt Y’shtola’s hands at his waist, and she unclipped the bullets she had left him. He looked over his shoulder at her and their eyes met, and he had that feeling again, that she saw into him, right through him, but she didn’t seem angry about what she found there. Her gaze slid from his face to the dark water in the pool. “We can both swim.”

Her words made no sense to him, and he was about to ask, then she tossed the bullets at the child’s body, and everything exploded into bright light.

The screaming was the worst part, an inhuman, terrifying shriek of pain, then he felt Y’shtola’s hand on his, and she was moving towards the center of the room.

_We can’t kill it on our own._

_We’ll need help._

_We can both swim._

He grabbed her about the waist and threw her into the pool then dived in himself, before the creature got its bearings. _Urianger will know what to do._

The explosion must have knocked something loose within the ruins, for the reservoir began to drain, and they were both swept along with it, faster than either of them could swim, buffeted by water and stone until they were suddenly tossed into the open air, beneath the blinding sunlight.

* * *

**Y’shtola**

She was falling again, and terror filled her heart, but Thancred was there, his arms wrapped around her, the threads of her sinful selfishness twisted around them both. She began to tremble, but his arms tightened around her, and a moment later her teeth rattled as he took the brunt of the blow when they both hit the ground.

“Are you all right?” she gasped, patting him all over. 

“Fine,” he lied. “I wasn’t using that spine anyway.” 

She laughed, but it seemed high and shrill to her own ears, so Y’shtola reached for him, healing his body from the blow. That was when she knew something was wrong.

Her natural aether wasn’t responding correctly. Thought the healing went well, her stores did not replenish as they should. “Thancred…” she asked, then sat back, finally looking away from him to drink in her surroundings and saw _nothing_.

That wasn’t completely true - she could see vague lumps of aether, hanging unmoving in the air - but that same lack of movement prevented her from seeing the shape of what they were, the edges and outlines that would allow her to navigate. 

“Thancred, where are we?”

He groaned slightly and shifted beneath her. “The Empty.”


End file.
